Then the bush broke and Dad fell heavily upon his back and swore again.
To save the cockatoo fence that was round the cultivation was what was troubling Dad.

Right and left we fought the fire with boughs.

Hot! It was hellish hot! Whenever there was a lull in the wind we worked.
Like a wind-mill Dad's bough moved--and how he rushed for another when one was used up! Once we had the fire almost under control; but the wind rose again, and away went the flames higher and faster than ever.
"It's no use," said Dad at last, placing his hand on his head, and throwing down his bough.

We did the same, then stood and watched the fence go.

After supper we went out again and saw it still burning.