Dad said it had a capital flavour--HE liked it.
Dave's only pair of pants were pretty well worn off him; Joe had n't a decent coat for Sunday; Dad himself wore a pair of boots with soles tied on with wire; and Mother fell sick.

Dad did all he could--waited on her, and talked hopefully of the fortune which would come to us some day; but once, when talking to Dave, he broke down, and said he did n't, in the name of the Almighty God, know what he would do! Dave could n't say anything--he moped about, too, and home somehow did n't seem like home at all.
When Mother was sick and Dad's time was mostly taken up nursing her; when there was nothing, scarcely, in the house; when, in fact, the wolf was at the very door;--Dan came home with a pocket full of money and swag full of greasy clothes.

How Dad shook him by the hand and welcomed him back! And how Dan talked of "tallies", "belly-wool", and "ringers" and implored Dad, over and over again, to go shearing, or rolling up, or branding--ANYTHING rather than work and starve on the selection.
That's fifteen years ago, and Dad is still on the farm..