been trained to that pretty thoroughly during the last few
years. If you're worse than some of the Sergeant-majors I met when I was
training, I'll eat my hat."

"I'm told they're 'ard," said Howard. "Well, I s'pose I'd better take
yous on, though it's a queer day when the son of Linton of Billabong
comes askin' old Joe Howard for a job. But, I say"--and anguish again
settled on his brow--"wot am I to call yous? I can't order you about as
Mr. Jim. It wouldn't seem to come natural."

"Oh, call us any old thing," said Jim, laughing.

The old man pondered.

"Well, I'll call yous Major an' Captin," he declared, at length.
"That'll sound like a pair of workin' bullocks, an' I'll feel more at
'ome."

"Right-o," said Jim, choking slightly. "Where shall we put our horses?"

"Put 'em in the little paddock over there, an' stick yer saddles in the
shed," said his employer. "An' then bring in yer beef, an' we'll 'ave a
bit o' dinner. I ain't killed for a fortnight."

Then began for Bob Rainham one of the most strenuous fortnights of his
existence. Once having agreed to employ them, old Joe speedily became
reconciled to the prospect of cheap labour, and worked his willing
guests with a devouring energy. Before dawn had reddened the eastern
sky a shout of "Hi, Captin! Time the cow was in!" drove him from his
blankets, to search in the darkness of a scrub-covered paddock for a
cow, who apparently loved a game of hide-and-seek, and to drive her in
and milk her by the fitful light of a hurricane lantern. Then came the
usual round of morning duties; chopping wood, feeding pigs, cleaning
out sheds and outhouses, before the one-time airman had time to think of
breakfast. By the time he came in Howard and Jim had generally finished
and gone out--the old man took a sly delight in keeping "Major" away
from "Captin"--and after cooking his meal, it was his job to wash up
and to clean out the kitchen, over which old Joe proved unexpectedly
critical. Then came a varied choice of tasks to tackle to while away the
day. Sometimes he would be sent to scrub cutting, which he liked best,
particularly as Jim was kept at it always; sometimes he slashed mightily
at a blackberry-infested paddock, where the brambles would have daunted
anyone less stout of heart--or less ignorant. Then came lessons in
ploughing on a dry hillside; he managed badly at first, and came in for
a good deal of the rough side of old Joe's tongue before he learned to
keep to