We plodded back downriver towards our farm. Blue smoke curled from the chimney, where Mother and Aggie would be cooking breakfast. My blind sister is as skilful in the kitchen as anyone. Janet crossed the yard towards the milking bail, carrying a bucket in each hand. When did she grow so tall?

Fences gleamed in the morning sun. Our two fields — paddocks, we call them here — still have old tree stumps, but grass grows thick and soft. As I came up, with Strawberry moving slow and gentle ahead of me, I could truly believe that this was a land where riches might be found. I smiled at myself. You’re a man now, I thought. You shouldn’t be thinking of childish things like this.

The Why-Mow-Ana slid past in its rocky bed. A pair of ducks fussed at the edge. Haare and I hunted them with wooden spears when we were ten or twelve, but the only time we hit one, we got such a shock that we stood and stared. The spear took away half the bird’s tail feathers; it rose with a furious qu-aaawwkk! and flew off towards the swamp, fast — and crooked. Whole families of ducks live in the swamp; they seem to know they’re safe there.

Our river is always changing. I have mentioned how it becomes a thundering torrent after days of rain, impossible to cross. Twice while we have lived here, floodwaters have carved a new path, gouging their way through the sand and shingle, sometimes ripping away the roots of trees so they topple into the current. Our favourite swimming and fishing place, the one by the rocks, became a shallow pool last year, then was a deep bend again, just six months later.

Strawberry paced into the paddock. I tied her to the milking bail with a rope around her neck (I hardly need it; she’s such a gentle beast), and sat down on the stump that is our milking stool. My hands went to work, and warm streams of milk began hissing into the pail.

‘Niall!’ Aggie called after a while. ‘Breakfast!’

At the same time, I heard a bumping of wheels, and saw John Brady’s wagon jolting up the track towards our house. Its tray was stacked with bundles of flax that John takes to the nearest railway. Two figures sat among the bundles: Hahona and her young man.

My elder sister walked across to meet them. You would never guess she cannot see, except for the way she tests each step for half a second before she takes her next. John Brady swung down, spoke to her so she knew where he was, held out his hand. My sister took it.

He is indeed a good man. I hope a life lies ahead for him and Aggie.