I remember he had a fight with a little bull-calf, about a week old, that came in with a wild heifer, and Aileen made as much of his pluck as if it had been a mallee scrubber.

The calf baaed and butted at Jim, as even the youngest of them will, if they've the wild blood in 'em, and nearly upset him; he was only a bit of a toddler.

But Jim picked up a loose leg of a milking-stool, and the two went at it hammer and tongs.

I could hardly stand for laughing, till the calf gave him best and walked.
Aileen pulled him out, and carried him in to mother, telling her that he was the bravest little chap in the world; and I remember I got scolded for not going to help him.

How these little things come back! 'I'm beginning to be afraid,' says George, one evening, 'that it's going to be a dry season.' 'There's plenty of time yet,' says Jim, who always took the bright side of things; 'it might rain towards the end of the month.' 'I was thinking the same thing,' I said.