And once Daisy, in a moment of irritation, confided to her father that she felt inclined to stick a needle into his jackaroo for the sake of discovering whether that provoking air of leisurely languor was natural or assumed. ‘He’s got no backbone, my dear,’ said the Manager, laughing. ‘But try him by all means. I’ll bet you ten to one he only says what he did last week, when that old ram made a drive at him in the yard, and knocked him down and jumped on him.’ ‘And what did he say to that?’ asked Daisy eagerly. ‘Well,’ replied Mr Barton, laughing again, ‘when he’d cleaned the mud out of his eyes and mouth, he looked surprised and said “Haw!”’ ‘Oh,’ said Daisy, disappointedly. ‘But what ought he to have said to show that he had a backbone, papa?’ ‘Well,’ replied her father vaguely, ‘you know, Daisy—er—um—well, that is—um—a great many people, my dear, your father amongst them, perhaps, would be apt to say a good deal on such an occasion.’ ‘I have a better opinion than ever of Mr Fortescue,’ cried Daisy indignantly at this. ‘Because he keeps his temper, and doesn’t go on like Long Jim or Ben the Bullocky when any little thing happens, he’s got no pluck or resolution! I own he exasperates one sometimes with his calm, dawdling ways. But if he were pushed, I shouldn’t be surprised to find more in him than he gets credit for after all!’ ‘Umph!’ said Mr Barton glancing kindly, but with rather a troubled face, at the flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes upturned to his own. And as he rode over the run that day the burden of his thoughts was that the sooner his serene-tempered jackaroo got tired of the Bush the better it would be for all of them. * * * * * ‘Ned, if the river ain’t a-risin’, an’ risin’ precious quick, too, call me a Dutchman! ’Arf-an-hour ago the water warn’t near them bullocks, and now it’s right agin their ’eels!’ ‘Well,’ replied his mate, glancing towards the brown stream slowly spreading over the flat, ‘we’re safe enough. I’ll forgive it if it comes over this. Tell you what, though, you might catch the pony an’ canter up to the station, an’ tell ole Barton as there’s some water a-comin’. He might have some stock he’d like to git out o’ the road. An’ you might’s well git a lump o’ meat while you’re there.’ So Ned, of the travelling bullock team, went with the news to Tarnpirr, lower down. But Mr Barton that very morning had been to Warrooga township, and the telegraph people had said no word of floods or heavy rain at the head of the river. Around Tarnpirr and district the weather had been dry for weeks, so the Manager was not in the least uneasy. ‘It’s only a bit of a fresh, Brown,’ said he. ‘It’ll soon go down again. Thanks all the same, though. Meat? Yes, of course. And now you’d better go over to the kitchen and get your dinner.’ ‘Boss reckons it’s nothin’,’ said Ned, returning that evening. ‘No rain fall’d up above.’