He rode away, his curiosity unsatisfied.
But when they rode up the homestead paddock at his farm, he gave a long
whistle.
"What on earth--?" he began amazedly.
There were men in sight everywhere, and all working. Eight or nine
ploughs were moving across the paddocks destined for cultivation;
already wide strips of freshly turned earth showed that they had been
some time at work. On the flat where Bob had begun his drain was a line
of men, and some teams with earth-scoops, cutting a deep channel. There
were even men digging in the garden; and the sound of axes came faintly
from a belt of scrub that Bob was planning to clear--some day. He gaped
at them.
"What does it mean?"
"It's a bee," said Wally kindly. "A busy bee, improving each shining
hour."
Bob turned a puzzled, half-distressed face to Mr. Linton.
"I say, sir--what is it?"
"It's just that, my boy," said David Linton. "The district had a fancy
to help you--Cunjee thinks a heap of soldiers, you see. So a lot of the
fellows got together and planned to put in a day on the creek, doing odd
jobs."
"I say," said poor Bob flushing scarlet, "I never heard such a
thing--and I hardly know any of them. Whatever am I to say to them,
sir?"
"I wouldn't say much at all," said David Linton laughing. "You'll only
embarrass them if you do. Just take a hand in any job you like, and
carry on--as we're all going to do.
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