Page:While the Billy Boils, 1913.djvu/164

 The vision is gone again. Thud, thud, goes the pick; it counts the years that follow―one, two, three, four, up to twenty, and then it stops for the next scene―a selection on the banks of a bright river in New South Wales. The little homestead is surrounded by vines and fruit trees. Many swarms of bees work under the shade of the trees, and a crop of wheat is nearly ripe on the hillside.

A man and a boy are engaged in clearing a paddock just below the homestead. They are father and son; the son, a boy of about seventeen, is the image of his father.

Horses' feet again! Here comes Nemesis in mounted troopers' uniform.

The mail was stuck up last night about five miles away, and a refractory passenger shot. The son had been out ''possum shooting' all night with some friends.

The troopers take the son away handcuffed: 'Robbery under arms.'

The father was taking out a stump when the troopers came. His foot is still resting on the spade, which is half driven home. He watches the troopers take the boy up to the house, and then, driving the spade to its full depth, he turns up another sod. The troopers reach the door of the homestead; but still he digs steadily, and does not seem to hear his wife's cry of despair. The troopers search the boy's room and bring out some clothing in two bundles; but still the father digs. They have saddled up one of the farm horses and made the boy mount. The father digs. They ride off along the ridge with the boy between