He would soon cool down, though, and get hopeful again.
"Look at the Dwyers," he'd say; "from ten acres of wheat they got seventy pounds last year, besides feed for the fowls; they've got corn in now, and there's only the two." It was n't only burning off! Whenever there came a short drought the waterhole was sure to run dry; then it was take turns to carry water from the springs--about two miles.

We had no draught horse, and if we had there was neither water-cask, trolly, nor dray; so we humped it--and talk about a drag! By the time you returned, if you had n't drained the bucket, in spite of the big drink you'd take before leaving the springs, more than half would certainly be spilt through the vessel bumping against your leg every time you stumbled in the long grass.
Somehow, none of us liked carrying water.

We would sooner keep the fires going all day without dinner than do a trip to the springs.
One hot, thirsty day it was Joe's turn with the bucket, and he managed to get back without spilling very much.

We were all pleased because there was enough left after the tea had been made to give each a drink.
Dinner was nearly over; Dan had finished, and was taking it easy on the sofa, when Joe said: "I say, Dad, what's a nater-dog like ?" Dad told him: "Yellow, sharp ears and bushy tail." "Those muster bin some then thet I seen--I do n't know 'bout the bushy tail--all th' hair had comed off." "Where'd y' see them, Joe ?" we asked.

"Down 'n th' springs floating about--dead." Then everyone seemed to think hard and look at the tea.