" And the
pumpkins grew and ripened.
The two men then went towards the house, and Philip observed the
fragments of a clock scattered about the ground in front of the
verandah.
"What happened to the clock?" said Philip.
"Why," replied Gleeson, "the thing wasn't going right at all, so I
took it to pieces just to examine it, and to oil the wheels, and when
I tried to put it together again, the fingers were all awry, and the
pins wouldn't fit in their places, and the pendulum swung crooked,
and the whole thing bothered me so that I just laid it on the floor
of the verandah, and gave it one big kick that sent it to
smithereens. But don't mind me or the clock at all, master; just
come inside, and we'll have a bit o' dinner before we start."
Gleeson was the kindest man in the world; all he wanted was a little
patience.
The kangaroo gave better sport than either the fish or the pig, and
Philip enjoyed it. His mare proved swift, but sometimes shied at the
start, when the kangaroos were in full view. She seemed to think
that there was a kangaroo behind every tree, so she jumped aside from
the trunks. That was to kill Philip at last, but he had not the
least idea what was to happen, and was as happy as hermits usually
are, and they have their troubles and accidents just like other
people.
The kangaroos when disturbed made for the thick timber, and the
half-grown ones, called "Flying Joeys," always escaped; they were so
swift, and they could jump to such a distance that I won't mention
it, as some ignorant people might call me a liar.
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