Still the dog was that fond of him you'd think he'd like to die for him there and then.

But dogs are not like boys, or men either--better, perhaps.
Well, we were all born at the hut by the creek, I suppose, for I remember it as soon as I could remember anything.

It was a snug hut enough, for father was a good bush carpenter, and didn't turn his back to any one for splitting and fencing, hut-building and shingle-splitting; he had had a year or two at sawing, too, but after he was married he dropped that.

But I've heard mother say that he took great pride in the hut when he brought her to it first, and said it was the best-built hut within fifty miles.

He split every slab, cut every post and wallplate and rafter himself, with a man to help him at odd times; and after the frame was up, and the bark on the roof, he camped underneath and finished every bit of it--chimney, flooring, doors, windows, and partitions--by himself.