"Well, EIGHT good cows at the least--plenty, too. It's simply WONDERFUL how cattle breed if they're let alone. Look at Murphy, for instance. Started on that place with two young heifers--those two old red cows that you see knocking about now. THEY'RE the mothers of all his cattle. Anderson just the same...Why, God bless my soul! we would have a better start than any one of them ever had--by a long way."

Dave sat up. He began to share Dad's enthusiasm.

"Once get it STOCKED, and all that is to be done then is simply to look after the fence, ride about among the cattle every day, see they're right, brand the calves, and every year muster the mob, draft out the fat bullocks, whip them into town, and get our seven and eight pounds a head for them."

"That'd suit me down to the ground, ridin' about after cattle," Dave said.

"Yes, get our seven and eight pounds, maybe nine or ten pounds a-piece. And could ever we do that pottering about on the place?" Dad leaned over further and pressed Dave's knee with his hand.

"Mind you!" (in a very confidential tone) "I'm not at all satisfied the way we're dragging along here. It's utter nonsense, and, to speak the truth" (lowering his voice again) "I'VE BEEN SICK OF THE WHOLE DAMN THING LONG AGO."

"It would n't matter," Dad continued, "if there was no way of doing better; but there IS. The thing only requires to be DONE, and why not DO it?" He paused for an answer.

"Well," Dave said, "let us commence it straight off--t'morror. It's the life that'd suit ME."

(Editor：library)