The scene is a small New South Wales western selection, the holder¹ whereof is native-English. His wife is native-Irish. Time, Sunday, about 8 a.m. A used-up looking woman comes from the slab-and-bark house, turns her face towards the hillside, and shrieks²:  
“T-o-o-mmay!”
 
No response, and presently she draws a long breath and screams again:
 
“Tomm-a-a-y!”
 
A faint echo comes from far up the siding where Tommy's presence is vaguely³ indicated by half a dozen cows moving slowly—very slowly—down towards the cow-yard.
 
The woman retires. Ten minutes later she comes out again and screams:
 
“Tommy!
 
“Y-e-e-a-a-s-s!” very passionately⁵ and shrilly⁷.
 
“Ain't you goin' to bring those cows down to-day?”
 
“Y-e-e-a-a-s-s-s!—carn't yer see I'm comin'?”
 
A boy is seen to run wildly along the siding and hurl⁸ a missile at a feeding cow; the cow runs forward a short distance through the trees, and then stops to graze again while the boy stirs up another milker.
 
An hour goes by.
 
The rising Australian generation is represented by a thin, lanky⁹ youth of about fifteen. He is milking. The cow-yard is next the house, and is mostly ankle-deep in slush. The boy drives a dusty, discouraged-looking cow into the bail¹⁰, and pins her head there; then he gets tackle on to her right hind¹¹ leg, hauls it back, and makes it fast to the fence. There are eleven cows, but not one of them can be milked out of the bail—chiefly because their teats are sore. The selector does not know what makes the teats sore, but he has an unquestioning faith in a certain ointment¹², recommended to him by a man who knows less about cows than he does himself, which he causes to be applied¹³ at irregular intervals¹⁴—leaving the mode of application to the discretion¹⁵ of his son. Meanwhile the teats remain sore.
 
Having made the cow fast, the youngster cautiously takes hold of the least sore teat, yanks it suddenly, and dodges¹⁶ the cow's hock. When he gets enough milk to dip his dirty hands in, he moistens the teats, and things go on more smoothly¹⁷. Now and then he relieves the monotony of his occupation by squirting at the eye of a calf¹⁸ which is dozing¹⁹ in the adjacent pen. Other times he milks into his mouth. Every time the cow kicks, a burr or a grass-seed or a bit of something else falls into the milk, and the boy drowns these things with a well-directed stream—on the principle that what's out of sight is out of mind.
 
Sometimes the boy sticks his head into the cow's side, hangs on by a teat, and dozes²⁰, while the bucket, mechanically gripped between his knees, sinks lower and lower till it rests on the ground. Likely as not he'll doze⁴ on until his mother's shrill⁶ voice startles him with an inquiry²¹ as to whether he intends to get that milking done to-day; other times he is roused by the plunging²² of the cow, or knocked over by a calf which has broken through a defective²³ panel in the pen. In the latter case the youth gets tackle on to the calf, detaches its head from the teat with the heel of his boot, and makes it fast somewhere. Sometimes the cow breaks or loosens the leg-rope and gets her leg into the bucket and then the youth clings desperately²⁴ to the pail and hopes she'll get her hoof²⁵ out again without spilling the milk. Sometimes she does, more often she doesn't—it depends on the strength of the boy and the pail and on the strategy of the former. Anyway, the boy will lam the cow down with a jagged yard shovel²⁶, let her out, and bail up another.
 
When he considers that he has finished milking he lets the cows out with their calves²⁷ and carries the milk down to the dairy, where he has a heated argument with his mother, who—judging from the quantity of milk—has reason to believe that he has slummed some of the milkers. This he indignantly denies, telling her she knows very well the cows are going dry.
 
The dairy is built of rotten box bark—though there is plenty of good stringy-bark within easy distance—and the structure looks as if it wants to lie down and is only prevented by three crooked²⁸ props³⁰ on the leaning side; more props will soon be needed in the rear for the dairy shows signs of going in that direction. The milk is set in dishes made of kerosene-tins, cut in halves, which are placed on bark shelves fitted round against the walls. The shelves are not level and the dishes are brought to a comparatively horizontal position by means of chips and bits of bark, inserted under the lower side. The milk is covered by soiled sheets of old newspapers supported on sticks laid across the dishes. This protection is necessary, because the box bark in the roof has crumbled³¹ away and left fringed holes—also because the fowls³² roost up there. Sometimes the paper sags³⁴, and the cream may have to be scraped off an article on dairy farming.
 
The selector's wife removes the newspapers, and reveals a thick, yellow layer of rich cream, plentifully³⁵ peppered with dust that has drifted in somehow. She runs a forefinger³⁶ round the edges of the cream to detach it from the tin, wipes her finger in her mouth, and skims. If the milk and cream are very thick she rolls the cream over like a pancake with her fingers, and lifts it out in sections. The thick milk is poured into a slop-bucket, for the pigs and calves, the dishes are “cleaned”—by the aid of a dipper full of warm water and a rag—and the wife proceeds to set the morning's milk. Tom holds up the doubtful-looking rag that serves as a strainer while his mother pours in the milk. Sometimes the boy's hands get tired and he lets some of the milk run over, and gets into trouble; but it doesn't matter much, for the straining-cloth has several sizab............