"And then again," he continued, as he cut up his tobacco, "your wifemight put on a new dress and fix herself up and look well, and you mightthink so and be satisfied with her appearance and be proud to take herout; but you want to tell her so, and tell her so as often as you thinkabout it--and try to think a little oftener than men usually do, too."。， "I remember the first swarm we got. We'd been talking of getting a fewswarms for a long time. That was what was the matter with us Englishand Irish and English-Irish Australian farmers: we used to talk so muchabout doing things while the Germans and Scotch did them. And we eventalked in a lazy, easy-going sort of way.
。， He saw the rose and lily--the red and white and blue--and he saw thesweetest flow-ow-ers that e'er in gardings grew; for he saw two lovelymaidens (Pinter calls 'em "virgings") underneath (he must have meant ontop of) "a garding chair", sings Pinter.
That fencer explained afterwards to Dave's party that he "seen what youcoves was up to," and that's why he called the inspector back. But hetold them that after they had told their yarn--which was a mistake.。， The struggling squatter is to be found in Australia as well as the"struggling farmer". The Australian squatter is not always the mightywool king that English and American authors and other uninformed peopleapparently imagine him to be. Squatting, at the best, is but a game ofchance. It depends mainly on the weather, and that, in New South Walesat least, depends on nothing.
。， It was not until some time after Black Bill had spoken that thewhite--or, rather, the brown--portion of the party could see or evenhear the approaching vehicle. At last, far out through the trunks of thenative apple-trees, the cart was seen approaching; and as it came nearerit was evident that it was being driven at a break-neck pace, the horsescantering all the way, while the motion of the cart, as first onewheel and then the other sprang from a root or a rut, bore a strikingresemblance to the Highland Fling. There were two persons in the cart.One was Mother Palmer, a stout, middle-aged party (who sometimes did theduties of a midwife), and the other was Dave Middleton, Joe's brother.
Even this fails to rouse the company's enthusiasm. "Give us a song, Abe!Give us the 'Lowlands'!" Abe Mathews, bearded and grizzled, is lyingon the broad of his back on a bench, with his hands clasped under hishead--his favourite position for smoking, reverie, yarning, or singing.He had a strong, deep voice, which used to thrill me through andthrough, from hair to toenails, as a child.。， "Well--you've done it!"