We got into the old way of working hard all day and sleeping well at night.

We could eat and drink well; the corned beef and the damper were good, and Jim, like when we were at the back of Boree when Warrigal came, wished that we could stick to this kind of thing always, and never have any fret or crooked dealings again as long as we lived.
But it couldn't be done.

We had to leave and go shearing when the spring came on.

We did go, and went from one big station to the other when the spring was regularly on and shearers were scarce.

By and by the weather gets warmer, and we had cut our last shed before the first week in December.
Then we couldn't stand it any longer.
'I don't care,' says Jim, 'if there's a policeman standing at every corner of the street, I must make a start for home.