mfortable for the
night.

'Kiss me 'night-night, daddy,' he said.

I'd rather he hadn't asked me--it was a bad sign. As I was going to the
fire he called me back.

'What is it, Jim?'

'Get me my things and the cattle-pup, please, daddy.'

I was scared now. His things were some toys and rubbish he'd brought
from Gulgong, and I remembered, the last time he had convulsions, he
took all his toys and a kitten to bed with him. And ''night-night' and
'daddy' were two-year-old language to Jim. I'd thought he'd forgotten
those words--he seemed to be going back.

'Are you quite warm enough, Jim?'

'Yes, dad.'

I started to walk up and down--I always did this when I was extra
worried.

I was frightened now about Jim, though I tried to hide the fact from
myself. Presently he called me again.

'What is it, Jim?'

'Take the blankets off me, fahver--Jim's sick!' (They'd been teaching
him to say father.)

I was scared now. I remembered a neighbour of ours had a little girl die
(she swallowed a pin), and when she was going she said--

'Take the blankets off me, muvver--I'm dying.'

And I couldn't get that out of my head.

I threw back a fold of the 'possum rug, and felt Jim's head--he seemed
cool enough.

'Where do you feel bad, sonny?'

No answer for a while; then he said suddenly, but in a voice as if he
were talking in his sleep--

'Put my boots on, please, daddy. I want to go home to muvver!'

I held his hand, and comforted him for a while; then he slept--in a
restless, feverish sort of way.

I got the bucket I used for water for the horses and stood it over the
fire; I ran to the creek with the big kerosene-tin bucket and got
it full of cold water and stood it handy. I got the spade (we always
carried one to dig wheels out of bogs in wet weather) and turned a
corner of the tarpaulin back, dug a hole, and trod the tarpaulin down
into the hole, to serve for a bath, in case of the worst. I had a tin of
mustard, and meant to fight a good round for Jim, if death came along.

I stooped in under the tail-board of the waggon and felt Jim. His head
was burning hot, and his skin parched and dry as a bone.

Then I lost nerve and started blundering backward and forward between
the waggon and the fire, and repeating what I'd heard Mary say the last
time we fought for Jim: 'God! don't take my child! God! don't take my
boy!' I'd never had much faith in doctors, but, my God! I wanted one
then. The nearest was fifteen