Agents' letters and bills and things.
Jim has them. We didn't bring the papers."
"I should think not!" returned her father. "If I catch either of you
carrying loose papers on those horses--well, one broken leg is enough in
a family of this size!"
"Too much respect for Monarch, to say nothing of my legs," said Jim,
laconically, producing a handful of letters. "There you are, Dad;
that's all. Do you want anything? I'm going down to the little paddock
for a lesson in bullock driving from Burton."
"How are you getting on in the art?" asked his father, smiling.
"Oh, slowly. My command of language doesn't seem to be sufficient, for
so far the team looks on me with mild scorn." Jim grinned. "It's
nervous work for Joe, too. I got him with the tail of the whip
yesterday, when I'd every intention of correcting old Ranger! However,
I plod on, and Joe keeps well out of the way now. He yells instructions
at me from some way back in the landscape!"
"Prudent man, Burton," laughed his father. "A good tutor, too. I don't
know that I ever saw a man handle bullocks better. Most people don't
credit bullocks with souls, but I think Joe gets nearer to finding that
attribute in his beasts than the average driver, and with less
expenditure of energy and eloquence! He's like the man we were reading
about, North:
"As to a team, over gully and hill,
He can travel with twelve on the breadth of a quill!"
"Oh, COULD he?" asked Jim, with much interest.
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