Then Dad lost his temper.
"No USE ?" he yelled, "you whelp, what do you know about it ?" Dan answered quietly: "On'y this, that it's nothing but tomfoolery, this hoe business." "How would you do it then ?" Dad roared, and Dan hung his head and tried to button his buttonless shirt wrist-band while he thought.
"With a plough," he answered.
Something in Dad's throat prevented him saying what he wished, so he rushed at Dan with the hoe, but--was too slow.
Dan slept outside that night.
No sooner was the grain sown than it rained.

How it rained! for weeks! And in the midst of it all the corn came up--every grain-and proved Dwyer a bad prophet.

Dad was in high spirits and promised each of us something--new boots all round.
The corn continued to grow--so did our hopes, but a lot faster.
Pulling the suckers and "heeling it up" with hoes was but child's play--we liked it.

Our thoughts were all on the boots; 'twas months months since we had pulled on a pair.

Every night, in bed, we decided twenty times over whether they would be lace-ups or bluchers, and Dave had a bottle of "goanna" oil ready to keep his soft with.
Dad now talked of going up country--as Mother put it, "to keep the wolf from the door"-- while the four acres of corn ripened.