"Yes, Emma."

"Then for G.o.d's sake make me a cup of tea. I must have it after all this."

He hurried up the kettle-she calling every few minutes to know if "that kettle was boiling yet". He took her a cup of tea, and then a second. She said the tea was slush, and as sweet as syrup, and called for more, and hot water.

"How do you feel now, sonny?" he asked, as he lay down on the sofa once more.

"Much better, father. You can put out the light now if you like."

The father blew out the candle, and settled back again, still dressed, save for his coat, and presently the small, weak hand sought the hard, strong, h.o.r.n.y, knotted one; and so they lay, as was customary with them. After a while the father leaned over a little and whispered: "Asleep, sonny?"

"No, father."

"Feel bad again?"

"No, father."

Pause.

"What are you thinking about, sonny?"

"Nothing, father."

"But what is it? What are you worrying about? Tell me."

"Nothing, father, only-it'll be a good while yet before I grow up to be a man, won't it, father?"

The father lay silent and troubled for a few moments.

"Why do you ask me that question to-night, sonny? I thought you'd done with all that. You were always asking me that question when you were a child. You're getting too old for those foolish fancies now. Why have you always had such a horror of growing up to be a man?"

"I don't know, father. I always had funny thoughts-you know, father. I used to think that I'd been a child once before, and grew up to be a man, and grew old and died."

"You're not well to-night, sonny-that's what's the matter. You're queer, sonny; it's a touch of sun-that's all. Now, try to go to sleep. You'll grow up to be a man; in spite of laying awake worrying about it. If you do, you'll be a man all the sooner."

Suddenly the mother called out: "Can't you be quiet? What do you mean by talking at this hour of the night? Am I never to get another wink of sleep? Shut those doors, Nils, for G.o.d's sake, if you don't want to drive me mad-and make that boy hold his tongue!"

The father closed the doors.

"Better try to go to sleep now, sonny," he whispered, as he lay down again.

The father waited for some time, then, moving very softly, he lit the candle at the kitchen fire, put it where it shouldn't light the boy's face, and watched him. And the child knew he was watching him, and pretended to sleep, and, so pretending, he slept. And the old year died as many old years had died.

The father was up at about four o'clock-he worked at his trade in a farming town about five miles away, and was struggling to make a farm and a home between jobs. He cooked bacon for breakfast, washed up the dishes and tidied the kitchen, gave the boys some bread and bacon fat, of which they were very fond, and told the eldest to take a cup of tea and some bread and milk to his mother and the baby when they woke.

The boy milked the three cows, set the milk, and heard his mother calling: "Nils! Nils!"

"Yes, mother."

"Why didn't you answer when I called you? I've been calling here for the last three hours. Is your father gone out?"

"Yes, mother."

"Thank G.o.d! It's a relief to be rid of his everlasting growling. Bring me a cup of tea and the Australian Journal, and take this child out and dress her; she should have been up hours ago."

And so the New Year began.

About the author.

Henry Lawson was born in Grenfell, NSW, in 1867. At the age of fourteen he became totally deaf, an affliction which many have suggested rendered his world all the more vivid and subsequently enlivened his later writing. After a stint of coach painting, he edited a periodical, The Republican, and began writing verse and short stories. His first work of short fiction appeared in the Bulletin in 1888. He travelled to New Zealand and around Australia and in 1896 married Bertha Bredt. He continued to travel and to write short fiction and poetry throughout his life and published numerous collections of both even as his marriage collapsed and he descended into poverty and mental illness. He spent several productive sojourns in the country but died in 1922, leaving his wife and two children.

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Also by Henry Lawson.

Short Stories in Prose and Verse (1894).

While the Billy Boils (1896).

In the Days When the World Was Wide (1896)

On the Track (1900).

Over the Sliprails (1900)

Verses Popular and Humorous (1900)

Joe Wilson and His Mates (1901)

The Country I Come From (1901)

Children of the Bush (1902).

When I Was King (1905)

The Romance of the Swag (1907).

The Rising of the Court (1910)

The Skyline Riders (1910).

Mateship (1911)

Triangles of Life (1913).

For Australia (1913)

My Army, O My Army (1915).

Song of the Dardanelles (1916).

Selected Poems (1918).

end.