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 pets, too, can’t you? Everything we’ve got is a pet. You know, we don’t believe in our animals working for us for nothing.”

Past the last of the many sheds, through the kitchen-garden, through the orchard, and then out, upon what a breezy hillock! High up it seems suddenly to have been lifted, and now to be held high up, all bare to the bright breezes. The view from it is all in breadths of blue and green—blue sky, blue sea, and other great green grassy knobs like itself; all the land on this side is hilly. Here and there a fire-blackened pole, or stubborn old grey stump, bears witness to the long-banished Bush; in one gully, tree-ferns spread their delicate pavilions. Up two more hillocks we climb, and chase each other down two gullies. Shouts and laughter greet our last ascent, and here we are, among the harvesters!

The crop is being carried. Benny, and Bonny, his twin-sister, whose flying fleece of yellow hair catches every sunbeam, are helping Flo to rake. Sandy is in charge of the sled, as Dobbin takes it back and forth between the rakers and the rick; while Bruv, the eldest of “the children,” is pitching, with the help of Hugh Miller, a neighbour’s son. As for Dad, he is everywhere, of course. All the lads are well-grown, honest-looking, and natural. Soft shirts with turned-down collars, blue dungarees, belts, and great “gégé” hats make up their “rig”—how they would laugh if one told them that it was picturesque! it is, though, all the same. Work is proceeding at top-speed; nevertheless, Hugh Miller, I perceive, finds time between his forkfuls for a word or two with Nancy, standing, with glowing face uplifted, close beneath the rick;