Best of all he loved the days when ’Possum worked upon the little farm. ’Possum never was too busy for a small boy.  Her day’s work was a generous one, for she came early—rising at no one knew what unearthly hour to finish her home-tasks first—and stayed late, riding away in the dusk with her blue skirt flapping against the side of the old grey; and she was a swift, tireless worker, with a rare ability for using her head as well as her hands, so that she never made two strokes where one would suffice.  But she managed to include Garth in most things.  If she were ploughing, he knew that by waiting at the end of the furrow he could have a few words with her as he watched the fascinating business of turning the big disc-plough; and if the going were good, there might even be the wild joy of sitting in its curved iron seat, and holding the reins while ’Possum turned the horses.  Always at the end of the day he was there to help her take them out of the plough; and then, each mounted on a broad bare back, with the harness jingling, they would jog home together to the stable, and he would help to rub down the horses and feed them.  ’Possum always let him help.  It was one of the things Garth liked best about her.