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If Honora took her book under the maple tree in the yard, she was confronted with that hideous wooden sign "To Let" on the Dwyer's iron fence opposite, and the grass behind it was unkempt and overgrown with weeds. "I suppose it will be a boarding-house," she would say, "it's much too large for poor people to rent, and only poor people are coming into this district now." "Oh, Aunt Mary!"
He looked after the selection, minded the corn, kept Anderson's and Dwyer's and Brown's and old Mother Murphy's cows out of it, and chased goannas away from the front door the same as Dad used to do for Joe felt that he was in Dad's place, and postponed his customary familiarities with the goannas. It was while Joe was in charge that Casey came to our place. We never saw a man like him before.
No mistake, it was a real wilderness nothing but trees, "goannas," dead timber, and bears; and the nearest house Dwyer's was three miles away. I often wonder how the women stood it the first few years; and I can remember how Mother, when she was alone, used to sit on a log, where the lane is now, and cry for hours. Lonely! It WAS lonely.
Hard work, Joe thought, was n't necessary on a selection. Casey knew a thing or two so he said. One fine morning, when all the sky was blue and the butcher-birds whistling strong, Dwyer's cows smashed down a lot of the fence and dragged it into the corn. Casey, assisted by Joe, put them all in the yard, and hammered them with sticks. Dwyer came along. "Those cattle belong to me," he said angrily.
"Not even if I were to offer you a house like Mr. Dwyer's?" he said. A remark which betrayed although not to her his knowledge of certain earthly strains in his goddess. The colours faded from the water, and it blackened.
"Out of kindness, Honora. Mrs. Dwyer knows that I enjoy looking at beautiful things." "Why doesn't she invite you to the dinners?" asked Honora, hotly. "Our family is just as good as Mrs. Dwyer's." The extent of Aunt Mary's distress was not apparent. "You are talking nonsense, my child," she said.
For she had never conceived of him as having any desires whatever. "I want a house like Mr. Dwyer's," he declared, pointing at the distant imposing roof line against the fading eastern sky. Honora laughed. The idea of Peter wishing such a house was indeed ridiculous. Then she became grave again. "There are times when you seem to forget that I have at last grown up, Peter.
"Not even if I were to offer you a house like Mr. Dwyer's?" he said. A remark which betrayed although not to her his knowledge of certain earthly strains in his goddess. The colours faded from the water, and it blackened.
If Honora took her book under the maple tree in the yard, she was confronted with that hideous wooden sign "To Let" on the Dwyer's iron fence opposite, and the grass behind it was unkempt and overgrown with weeds. "I suppose it will be a boarding-house," she would say, "it's much too large for poor people to rent, and only poor people are coming into this district now." "Oh, Aunt Mary!"
You never will talk over serious things with me." "What are serious things?" asked Peter. "Well," said Honora vaguely, "ambitions, and what one is going to make of themselves in life. And then you make fun of me by saying you want Mr. Dwyer's house." She laughed again. "I can't imagine you in that house!" "Why not?" he asked, stopping beside the pond and thrusting his hands in his pockets.
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