flies, birds, and flowers on every
hand to take the attention of the boys.

"How do you like Australia, Sam?" said Norman, at last.

"Not at all," grumbled the man.

"Well, you are hard to please. Why, the place is lovely."

"Tchah! I don't see nothing lovely about it. I want to know why the
master couldn't take a farm in England instead of coming here. What are
we going to do for neighbours when we get there?"

"Be our own neighbours, Sam," said Rifle.

"Tchah! You can't."

"But see how beautiful the place is," said Tim, enthusiastically.

"What's the good of flowers, sir? I want taters."

"Well, we are going to grow some soon, and everything else too."

"Oh! are we?" growled Sam. "Get on, will yer?"--this to the horse.
"Strikes me as the captain's going to find out something out here."

"Of course he is--find a beautiful estate, and make a grand farm and
garden."

"Oh! is he?" growled Sam. "Strikes me no he won't. Grow taters, will
he? How does he know as they'll grow?"

"Because it's such beautiful soil, you can grow Indian corn, sugar,
tobacco, grapes, anything."

"Injun corn, eh? English corn's good enough for me. Why, I grew some
Injun corn once in the hothouse at home, and pretty stuff it was."

"Why, it was very handsome, Sam," said Rifle.

"Hansum? Tchah. What's the good o' being hansum if you ain't useful?"

"Well, _you're_ not handsome, Sam," said Norman, laughing.

"Who said I was, sir? Don't want to be. That's good enough for women
folk. But I am useful. Come now."

"So you are, Sam," said Tim; "the jolliest, usefullest fellow that ever
was."

"Useful, Master 'Temus, but I don't know about jolly. Who's going to be
jolly, transported for life out here like a convick? And as for that
Injun corn, it was a great flop-leaved, striped thing as grew a ear with
the stuff in it hard as pebbles on the sea-saw--seashore, I mean."

"Sam's got his tongue in a knot," said Norman. "What are you eating,
Sam?"

"Ain't eating--chewing."

"What are you chewing, then. India-rubber?"

"Tchah! Think I want to make a schoolboy's pop-patch? Inger-rubber?
No; bacco."

"Ugh! nasty," said Rifle. "Well, father says he shall grow tobacco."

"'Tain't to be done, Master Raffle," said Sam, cracking his whip; nor
grapes nayther. Yer can't grow proper grapes without a glass-house.

"Not in a hot country like this?"

"No, sir. They'll all come little teeny rubbidging things big a