Bush Studies by Barbara Baynton Read Free Book Online

dog, either from dignity or injury, was silent. His master, slowly and with some additions, repeated the prophecy, and again the dog gave him only silent attention.
    â€œâ€™Ere she comes with ther babby,” he cried, flinging up his arms in clumsy feigned surprise. Loo was not deceived, and stood still.
    â€œOh I’m a ole liar, am I! Yit’s come ter thet; ez it? Well better fer I ter be a liar ’n fer you ter lose yer manners—Sir.”
    In vain Loo protested. His master turned round, and when poor Loo faced that way, he drew his feet under him on the bunk and faced the wall. When the distressed Loo, from outside the hut, caught his eye through the cracks, he closed his own, to stifle remorse at the eloquent dumb appeal.
    Usually their little differences took some time to evaporate; the master sulked with his silent mate till some daring feat with snake or dingo on the dog’s part mollified him. Loo, probably on the look-out for such foes, moved to the end of the hut nearest the sheep. Two hasty squints revealed his departure, but not his whereabouts, to the old man, who coughed and waited, but for once expected too much from poor Loo. His legs grew cramped, still he did not care to make the first move. It was a godsend when an undemonstrative ewe and demonstrative lamb came in.
    Before that ewe he held the whole of her disgraceful past, and under the circumstances, “’er imperdence—’er blarsted impendence—” in unceremoniously intruding on his privacy with her blanky blind udder, and more than blanky bastard, was something he could not and would not stand.
    â€œNone er yer sauce, now!” He jumped down, and shook his fist at the unashamed, silent mother. “Warder,” he shouted, “Warder, put ’em out!”
    Warder did so, and when he came back his master explained to him that the thing that “continerally an’ orlways” upset him was “thet dam old yoe”. It was the only sorrow he had or ever would have in life. “She wusn’t nat’ral, thet ole yoe.” There was something in the Bible, he told War, about “yoes” with barren udders. “An’ ’twarn’t as though she didn’t know.” For that was her third lamb he had had to poddy. But not another bite would he give this one. He had made up his mind now, though it had been worritin’ him all day. “Jes’ look at me,” showing his lamb-bitten fingers. “Wantin’ ter get blood outer a stone!”
    He shambled round, covered the cabbage-tree hat and the despised woman-worked button carefully; then his better nature prevailed. “See ’ere!” and there was that in his voice that indicated a moral victory. He took off the cloth and placed the button right side up and in its proper place. “Will thet do yer?” he asked.
    After this surrender his excitement was so great that the dog shared it. He advised War to lie down “an’ ’ave a spell”, and in strong agitation he went round the sheep-yard twice, each time stopping to hammer down the hurdles noisily, and calling to War not to “worrit; they’s orlright now, an’ firm as a rock.”
    Through these proceedings the ewe and lamb followed him, the lamb—lamb fashion—mixing itself with his legs. He had nothing further to say to the ewe, but from the expression of her eyes she still had an open mind towards him. Both went with him inside the hut. Were they intruders? the dog asked. He coughed and affected not to hear, went to the door, looked out and said the mist was gone, but the dog re-asked. “I think, War, there’s some er that orker’d little dam’ fool’s grub lef’,” he said, gently extricating the lamb from between his legs, “an’ it’ll on’y spile. Jes’ this once ’an no more, min’ yer, an’ then you skiddy addy,” he said to the