If Sam is well, he will be at the mill on Friday. He has to chop gum trees.
A boy, Alf, will go with me to see him chop the trees.
We like to smell the gum.
The sap drips from the tree as it is cut.
Sam will let Alf and me have the chips for Mother.
We love the hum, hum at the mill, as the big
logs are cut into strips.
Sam got a big, fat grub in one of the trees.