"Well, I never!" said her hostess feebly.
"No. An' he looks after his mother as if she was a bit of china an' might break. He'd look after me, too, if I'd let him. Many's the time when I've been workin' there on a hot day he come down the paddock to me with a billy of tea or a bottle of lemon syrup. An' they'd no more let me go without havin' me afternoon tea than they'd fly!"
"Brings it out to you?"
"Not they; they come an' haul me into their sittin'-room. My word, you ought to see it—all pickshers, an' books, an' flowers, an' a lovely pianner. An' she plays a fair treat."
"But aren't they awful well off?"
"No, they ain't. They got jolly little money. They had plenty in Melbourne, but he had to give up his billet there when they come here. An' they say they don't care a button, 'cause the kid's gettin' strong, an' he nearly died in Melbourne."
"Don't s'pose they would," said Mrs. Simpson, rescuing the last-but-one baby from the wood-box, and bestowing it outside the door, with a spank and a kiss, both of which it received without emotion. "Oh, lor'! here's your dad an' Jim, an' I'll bet the potatoes ain't cooked!"
Dinner at the Simpsons', being complicated by the seven little Simpsons, was a long and stormy affair, from which 'Possum and her father escaped before it had raged its way to a close. Nick O'Connor had bought a pig, and was anxious to get home. Mr. Simpson conveyed it to the water's edge in a wheelbarrow, tied in a sack, through a hole in which its head protruded, while it emitted the agonized shrieks peculiar to pigs. It redoubled these on being dumped into the boat, having, apparently, an aversion to a sea-faring life; and under cover of its wails 'Possum and Nick screamed their farewells to their host, and pushed off.
The breeze was still choppy, and they made but slow progress, tacking frequently. On land, it had been very hot, and the Simpsons' crowded kitchen had been stifling. Even on the lake, when the breeze fell, the sun was hot enough to make Nick throw off his coat. They zigzagged backwards and forwards across the lake; the boat went sluggishly, and both her passengers were sleepy. The only wakeful individual was the pig, who had ceased to yell, more from lack of breath than from any pleasant inclination, and was steadily employed in widening the hole cut for its head.
A sharp puff of wind came off the land. Simultaneously, the pig freed himself from the sack, and started for home, oblivious of the fact that his hind legs were still tied together—a fact which checked its first leap, and sent it rolling, with an ear-splitting yell, against Nick's legs. That gentleman awoke with a start, and instinctively put the helm over, just at the wrong moment. The gust of wind struck them suddenly, and the boat heeled over, too far to right itself. The sail struck the water, and in an instant Nick, 'Possum and the pig were struggling together in the waves.