“Bridge!—don’t grow such things in this part of the world,” laughed Jim. “No, there’s a place where it’s easy enough to ford, a little way up. There are plenty of places fordable, if you only know them, on this creek; but a number of them are dangerous, because of deep holes and boggy places. Father lost a good horse in one of those bogs, and to look at the place you’d only have thought it a nice level bit of grassy ground.”
“My word!” Wally whistled. “What a bit of hard luck!”
“Yes, it was, rather,” Jim said. “It made us careful about crossing, I can tell you. Even the men look out since Harry Wilson got bogged another time, trying to get over after a bullock. Of course he wouldn’t wait to go round, and he had an awful job to get his horse out of the mud—it’s something like a quicksand. After that father had two or three good crossings made very plain and clear, and whenever a new man is put on they’re explained to him. See, there’s one now.”
They came suddenly on a gap in the scrub, leading directly to the creek, which was, indeed, more of a river than a creek, and in winter ran in a broad, rapid stream. Even in summer it ran always, though the full current dwindled to a trickling, sluggish streamlet, with here and there a deep, quiet pool, where the fish lay hidden through the long hot days.
All the brushwood and trees had been cleared away, leaving a broad pathway to the creek. At the edge of the gap a big board, nailed to a tall tree, bore the word FORD in large letters. Farther on, between the trees, a glimpse of shining water caught the eye.
“That’s the way father’s had all the fords marked,” Norah said. “He says it’s no good running risks for the sake of a little trouble.”
“Dad’s always preaching that,” Jim observed. “He says people are too fond of putting up with makeshifts, that cost ever so much more time and trouble than it does to do a thing thoroughly at the start. So he always makes us do a thing just as well as we know how, and there’s no end of rows if he finds any one ‘half doing’ a job. ‘Begin well and finish better,’ he says. My word, it gives you a lesson to see how he fixes a thing himself.”
“Dear old Dad,” said Norah softly, half to herself.
“I think your father’s just splendid,” Harry said enthusiastically. “He does give you a good time, too.”
“Yes, I know he does,” Jim said. “I reckon he’s the best man that ever lived! All the same, he doesn’t mean to give me a good time always. When I leave school I’ve got to work and make my own living, with just a start from him. He says he’s not going to bring any boy up to be a loafer.” Jim’s eyes grew soft. “I mean to show him I can work, too,” he said.