Occasionally, after dropping one of these
convalescents, Jim would find jobs waiting to his hand about the bush
homestead; cows to milk, a fence to be mended, wood waiting to be
chopped. He used to do them vigorously, while in the house "mum" fussed
over her restored man and tried to keep him from going out to run the
farm immediately. There were generally two or three astonished children
to show him where tools were kept--milk buckets, being always up-ended
on a fence post, needed no introduction, and the pump, for a sluice
afterwards, was not hard of discovery. The big Rolls-Royce used to purr
gently away through the bush paddock afterwards, often with a bewildered
"mum" looking amazedly at the tall young man who drove it.
Meanwhile Bob Rainham, left alone with his host, set about the business
of his new farm in earnest, since there seemed nothing else for him to
do; and David Linton, possibly glad of the occupation, threw himself
into the work. The farm was bought on terms that seemed to Bob
very easy--he did not know that Mr. Linton stood security for his
payments--and then began the task of stocking it and of planning just
what was best to do with each paddock. The house, left bare and clean by
the last owners, was in good repair, save that the dingy white painting
of the exterior, and the varnished pine walls and ceilings within were
depressing and shabby.
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