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didn’t think!” He pointed to the row of gumboots in the alcove. “See if any of those might fit you for now.” He went back into the other part of the house.
    The first pair the youth tried on were too big, the second pair a bit too small.
    â€œHow are they, lad?” Mr. Coles asked, coming back and pointing to the too-small pair the youth still had on.
    â€œOkay,” said the youth, anxious to please.
    â€œRighto then.”
    Mr. Coles led the way out and went along the path in the direction of the shed. The youth followed, trying not to hobble because of his toes being scrunched up. As he passed one of the windows of the house he saw the curtain move and a woman’s angry face peer out. Or maybe it was more upset than angry.
    First Mr. Coles explained to him about feeding the animals. That was to be his daily task. At the other end of the tractor shed from the youth’s tiny bedroom was another separate room. Mr. Coles called it the saddle room because there were saddles and bridles hung up on racks on the wall, but it also contained bins of wheat and pollard and oats and chaff. Mr. Coles showed him how to take a bucket and scoop up such-and-such an amount of this for the chooks, and such-and-such an amount of that for the pigs, and this much of the other for the horses. The pigs, for instance, got eight scoops of pollard mixed with water and stirred into a thick mush, with foodscraps from the house added into it. Mr. Coles showed him how to use an old bricklayer’s trowel to mix with. The youth listened to all the instructions and tried to fix them in his mind.
    â€œGot that, lad?” Mr. Coles would ask after he’d explained each thing.
    â€œYes,” the youth would answer, having no idea what he’d just been told.
    â€œHope so,” said Mr. Coles. “We had to let the last lad go because he didn’t listen to what he was told. Went off half-cocked all the time. Ended up feeding
wheat
to the horses instead of oats! Damned
imbecilic
thing to do! Could’ve killed the poor beggars!”
    The youth tried to look amazed that anyone could make such an error. Even in his helpless whirl of confusion, part of his mind was working clearly. He was thinking that if he just got through these few minutes, and waited till Mr. Coles left him for a moment, he would grab his belongings from his room and walk quickly away over the nearest rise and disappear.
    â€œWell, lad,” said Mr. Coles, “that’s the drill. If you’re unsure about anything, any time,
ask
. I never mind a lad
asking
. Just don’t go off half-cocked. That’s what I can’t abide! Do we understand each other?”
    â€œYes,” said the youth.
    â€œRighto then, let’s see you prepare the feeds.”
    Mr. Coles supervised him through it and the youth felt slightly reassured. It had gone from being a whirl of confusion inside his head to an outward set of moves and actions that he could probably get the hang of and do routinely.
    After the feeding chores were done Mr. Coles milked the two cows, with the youth looking on to get an initial idea of it. Milking was to be another of his daily duties. “The trick, lad, is to keep her soothed and happy,” said Mr. Coles as he leant his head against the cow’s flank and directed a steady stream of milk into the bucket. Just then the cow whipped her muddy tail across the back of his neck and he yelled furiously at her that she was a blasted brute of a thing and had better stop the damned nonsense.
    â€œDone any welding, lad?” Mr. Coles asked a bit later.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œA vital skill when you’re on the land. You’ll soon pick it up. A keen lad will pick most things up.”
    The youth tried to put a flicker of keenness on his face, but he felt too clammy and unwell. The exertion of the feeding chores had got him sweating and now he had cooled again.
    They went into the main part of the