Most days he arranged his work so he could take Clementine with him for part of the day, checking the fences or lambing ewes on horseback, holding her on the big saddle in front of him. She watched him put raddles on the rams so they’d know which ewes had been covered, for in times like these there was no point wasting grass on a dud ram.

‘Why do you use that?’ demanded Clementine, pointing to the bib-like garment hung over the ram’s neck.

‘So we can see what the ram has been doing. See? This blue stuff comes off if they touch another sheep.’

‘Why?’

He wasn’t ready to give her details yet. ‘So we can have lambs this spring, Clementine.’

‘Why do the sheep have lambs in spring?’

‘Because that’s when the grass is best, when it’s warm enough for it to grow and not so hot it browns off.’ If any grass did grow this spring. If it rained . . .

‘Why do we have so many lambs?’

‘So we have more sheep and more wool.’

‘Why?’ she insisted.

He laughed. ‘So we can sell the wool to buy boots and ribbons for Clementine.’

‘Why?’

He hoisted her onto his shoulders, making her laugh. ‘Because we love you, little possum. Me and Mama and Grandzac.’

‘Why?’

‘Same reason the sea is big and horses have four legs. We love you because you are you.’

She gave him a look that said he had not answered any of the questions adequately. He swung her down and kissed her cheek, warm from the sun, tanned almost as dark as his own, now she was outside most of the day. He changed her napkins too — she needed one at night again since Rose had left, but Flora seemed to forget it would be wet in the morning. Mrs Taylor advised him to get Flora to smear the rash on her bottom with the mix of dripping and beeswax she’d used for her own children, and even gave him a pot. It helped, though he had to remind Flora to use it.

His heart ached for her. If only she would try to make life there better. But she had not even bothered to look at the catalogues he’d written to Maria to send to her, or attempted to follow the simple recipes Maria had written out for her.

‘Papa, look! There’s flowers up there!’ She pointed to a flow of mistletoe, which did indeed have red flowers among the green of its leaves, far greener than the gum tree it fed on.

‘They’re too high to reach, sweetheart. Can you find some more?’