The wind fell.
I remember, I remember,
And it gives me little joy,
To think I’m further off from heaven,
Than when I was a boy!
When Peter came back another thought seemed to have occurred to him.
“How’s your mother getting on, Joe?” he asked. “She shifted to Sydney after your father died, didn’t she?”
“Oh, she’s getting on all right!” said Joe, without elaboration.
“Keeping a boarding-house, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Joe.
“Hard to make ends meet, I suppose?” said Peter. “It’s almost a harder life than it could have been on the old selection, and there’s none of the old independence about it. A woman like your mother must feel it, Joe.”
“Oh, she’s all right,” said Joe. “She’s used to it by this time. I manage to send her a few pounds now and again. I send her all I can,” he added resentfully.
Peter sat corrected for a few moments. Then he seemed to change the subject.