de with our brand on,
all right--killed about a fortnight. They didn't know it had been taken
off a cancered bullock, and that father took the trouble to 'stick' him
and bleed him before he took the hide off, so as it shouldn't look dark.
Father certainly knew most things in the way of working on the cross.
I can see now he'd have made his money a deal easier, and no trouble of
mind, if he'd only chosen to go straight.

When mother said this, father looked at her for a bit as if he was sorry
for it; then he straightened himself up, and an ugly look came into his
face as he growled out--

'You mind your own business; we must live as well as other people.
There's squatters here that does as bad. They're just like the squires
at home; think a poor man hasn't a right to live. You bring the brand
and look alive, Dick, or I'll sharpen ye up a bit.'

The brand was in the corner, but mother got between me and it, and
stretched out her hand to father as if to stop me and him.

'In God's name,' she cried out, 'aren't ye satisfied with losing your
own soul and bringing disgrace upon your family, but ye must be the ruin
of your innocent children? Don't touch the brand, Dick!'

But father wasn't a man to be crossed, and what made it worse he had
a couple of glasses of bad grog in him. There was an old villain of a
shanty-keeper that lived on a back creek. He'd been there as he came
by and had a glass or two. He had a regular savage temper, father had,
though he was quiet enough and not bad to us when he was right. But the
grog always spoiled him.

He gave poor mother a shove which sent her reeling against the wall,
where she fell down and hit her head against the stool, and lay there.
Aileen, sitting down in the corner, turned white, and began to cry,
while father catches me a box on the ear which sends me kicking, picks
up the brand out of the corner, and walks out, with me after him.

I think if I'd been another year or so older I'd have struck back--I
felt that savage about poor mother that I could have gone at him
myself--but we had been too long used to do everything he told us; and
somehow, even if a chap's father's a bad one, he don't seem like other
men to him. So, as Jim had lighted the fire, we branded the little red
heifer calf first--a fine fat six-months-old nugget she was--and then
three bull calves, all strangers, and then Polly's calf, I suppose just
for a blind. Jim and I knew the four calves were all strange