One of the draught-horses cropped the couch-grass round about them.

Now and again a flying-fox circled noiselessly overhead, and "MOPOKE!--MOPOKE!" came dismally from the ridge and from out the lonely-looking gully.

A star fell, lighting up a portion of the sky, but Dad did not remark it.

In a while he said: "How old are you, Dave ?" Dave made a mental calculation before answering.
"S'pose I must be eighteen now ...Why ?" A silence.
"I've been thinking of that land at the back--if we had that I believe we could make money." "Yairs--if we HAD." Another silence.
"Well, I mean to have it, and that before very long." Dave raised his head, and looked towards Dad.
"There's four of you old enough to take up land, and where could you get better country than that out there for cattle?
Why" (turning on his side and facing Dave) "with a thousand acres of that stocked with cattle and this kept under cultivation we'd make money--we'd be RICH in a very few years." Dave raised himself on his elbow.
"Yairs--with CATTLE," he said.
"Just so" (Dad sat up with enthusiasm), "but to get the LAND is the first thing, and that's easy enough ONLY" (lowering his voice) "it'll have to be done QUIETLY and without letting everyone 'round know we're going in for it." ("Oh! yairs, o' course," from Dave.) "THEN" (and Dad lifted his voice and leaned over) "run a couple of wires round it, put every cow we've here on it straight away; get another one or two when the barley's sold, and let them breed." "'Bout how many'd that be t' start 'n ?" "Well, EIGHT good cows at the least--plenty, too.

It's simply WONDERFUL how cattle breed if they're let alone.