Mates at Billabong

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE LONG QUEST

  The creek went down with a broken song, 'Neath the she oaks high; The waters carried the song along, And the oaks a sigh. HENRY LAWSON.

  The big black thoroughbred still stood by the rails as they rode away.He had got rid of the saddle, and the broken bridle trailed from hishead. No one had time to see to him.

  Billabong was humming with activity. Men were running down to theyards, bridle in hand; others leading their horses up to be saddled;while those who were ready had raced over to the quarters for asnatched breakfast. Sirdar and the boys' horses had been stabled allnight, so that they were quickly saddled. Jim was riding Nan; Wally, onGarryowen, was already a speck in the distance.

  "You'll be quicker if you take him," Jim had said. Then he and Norahhad cantered away together.

  "Monarch wasn't hurt, Jim?"

  "He'd been down, I think," Jim said; "His knees look like it. But he'sall right--why, he must have jumped three fences?"

  After that for a long time they did not speak. Grim fear was knockingat both their hearts, for with the return of the black horse withouthis rider, their worst dread was practically confirmed. It was fairlycertain that Mr. Linton was helpless, somewhere in the bush, and thatmeant that he had been so for nearly two days, since it was almost thattime since he had ridden away from Killybeg.

  Two days! They had been days of steady, relentless heat, untempered byany breeze--when the cattle had sought the shade of the gum trees, andthe dogs about the homestead had crept close in under the treelucernes, with open mouths and tongues lolling. The men working on therun had left their tasks often to go down to the creek or the river fora drink; in the house, closely shuttered windows and lowered blinds onthe verandahs had only served to make the heat bearable. And he hadbeen out in it, somewhere, helpless, and perhaps in pain; with nothingto ease for him the hot hours or to save him from the chill of aVictorian night, which, even in midsummer, may be sharply cold beforethe dawn. The thought gnawed at his children's hearts.

  They passed through the billabong boundary and out into the roughcountry beyond, sharply undulating until it rose into the ranges DavidLinton had crossed on his way to and from Killybeg. They had beenfairly certain that he had come through them safely on his way home,and the thought had been a comfort--for to seek a man in those hills wasa hopeless task. But suddenly a sick fear came over Norah.

  "Jim," she said, "we don't know where Monarch got rid of Dad, ofcourse?"

  "No; but I expect it was near where they picked up his tracks."

  "You don't think it might have been in the ranges?"

  Jim looked suddenly aghast; but his face cleared.

  "No," he said, decidedly; "I don't. That place where Monarch had beenplaying up shows Dad must have been on him--a horse alone doesn't go tomarket as he seems to have done there. I guess you can put that notionout of your head, mate." He smiled at Norah, who answered him with agrateful look.

  Five miles from the boundary they came upon the tracks--to see them gaveNorah a queer sense of comfort, since in a way they brought her intouch with Dad. Then they separated, beating into the scrub that hemmedthem round everywhere, except when low, stony hills rose naked out ofthe green undergrowth.

  "We must shout to each other every few minutes to make sure we're notgetting too far apart," Jim said. "Of course, it's not so risky whenyou're riding--if you gave old Sirdar his head anywhere I know he'd takeyou home. Still, you don't gain anything by going far apart. Asystematic search is what's necessary in a place like this, where youmight ride half a dozen yards from him and not see him. Keep Tait withyou, Norah."

  "All right," Norah nodded. "What about coo-eeing, Jim? He might hear ashout and answer it, even if he couldn't see us."

  "Yes, but you can't keep coo-eeing all the time," said Jim,practically. "I'll tell you what--sing or whistle. You can do thateasily, and it doesn't tire you. And of course, if you find him, firethe revolver--you're sure you've got it carefully?"

  "Yes, it's all right," Norah replied, showing the revolver in its neatleather case. Jim and her father had taught her its use long ago, andshe understood it quite well. Mr. Linton held the view that all womenin the bush should know how to handle fire arms, since the bush is aplace where no one ever knows exactly what may turn up, from burglarsto tiger snakes. "Fire three times in the air, isn't it, Jim?"

  "Yes, that's right. Go on then, kiddie, and do take care!" Jim's voicewas strained with anxiety and wretchedness. While Norah was full ofhope, and, indeed, could scarcely realize that they might not find Dadsoon, the boy had the memory of the fruitless search all the previousday to dispirit him. As he looked at the forbidding wall of greenscrub, his feeling was almost one of despair.

  It did not take long for Norah to realize the difficulty of their task.She beat up and down among the trees, striving to keep an eye in everydirection, since any one of the big stumps, any clump of brushwood, anyold log or little knoll or grassy hollow might hide the one shesought--unable, perhaps, to see her or call to her even should she passin his sight. She remembered Jim's advice, and began to sing; but thewords died in her throat, and ended in something more like a sob.Whistling was more possible, and mechanically she took up a tune thatWally used to sing, and whistled it up and down the scrub as she went.Soon she did not know that she was doing so; but years after she usedto shudder within herself if she heard that foolish little tune.

  The men came out a little later, and soon the scrub was alive withvoices and the noise of the searching. It was weary work, with many aflutter at the heart when a sudden call would bring Norah to attention,rigid and listening--forgetting for the moment that only the threesignals agreed upon were to give evidence of success. Hour after hourwent by.

  They had settled a certain signal to meet for lunch, and when itfinally summoned them the searchers struggled out of the bush one byone. Jim's heart smote him as he saw Norah's white face, and he beggedher to cease; to stay resting during the hot afternoon, even if shewould not go home. Norah shook her head dully. She could not do it; andJim, knowing how he would have felt were he in her place, did not pressher, although he was miserably anxious. They sat down together on anold log, finding a shred of comfort in each other's nearness.

  It was a silent party that gathered round when black Billy had the bigquart pots of tea ready. No one seemed to have anything to say. Norahthought, with a catch at her heart, of the last time they had picnickedin the scrub; the happy talk and laughter, the dear foolish jokes andmerriment. This was indeed a strange picnic--each man eating rapidly andin silence, and everywhere stern preoccupied faces. There was nowaiting afterwards for the usual "smoke oh"; the men sprang up as soonas the hurried meal was over, and lit their pipes as they strode away.Soon the temporary camp was deserted--black Billy, the last to leave,muttering miserably to himself, hurrying back into the bush. The searchwent on.

  There was no riding in the afternoon; they were in country where thetangle of dogwood and undergrowth was so thick that to take a horsethrough it meant only lost time, and hindered the thoroughness of thequest. Norah fought her way through, keeping her line just as the menkept theirs; her white coat stained and torn now, her riding skirtshowing a hundred rents, her boots cut through in many places. She didnot know it; there was only room in her heart for one thought. When,while waiting for lunch, she had heard Dave Boone say something in anangry undertone about Bobs, she had wondered dully for a moment what hemeant. She had forgotten even Bobs.

  The hours went by, and the sun drooped towards evening. In the darkheart of the scrub the gloom came early, making each shadow a place ofmystery that gave false hope to the searchers a hundred times.Gradually it was too dark to look any more; for that day also they mustgive it up--the third since Monarch had broken free from his master andleft him lying somewhere in the green fastness about them. Therescarcely seemed a yard of it left unsearched. Despair was written onmost of the faces as the men came one by one to their horses and r
odehome, picking up on their way those who were still beating the bush asfar as the Billabong boundary.

  Jim and Norah were the last to leave. They came back to the horsestogether, Tait at their heels, his head and tail down. Norah wasstumbling blindly as she walked, and Jim's arm was round her. He puther up, and turned silently to unfasten his own bridle.

  "Jim," she said, and stopped. "Jim, do you think we'll find him in--intime?"

  Jim hesitated, trying to bring himself to say what he dared no longerthink. Then he gave way suddenly.

  "No," he said, hoarsely, "I don't; I don't believe we ever will!" Heput his head down on the saddle and sobbed terribly--dry, hard sobs thatcame from the bottom of his big heart. And Norah had no word ofcomfort. She sat still on Sirdar, staring in front of her.

  Presently Jim stood up and climbed into the saddle, and the impatienthorses moved off quickly towards home, Tait jogging at their heels.Once Jim turned towards his sister, saying, "Are you quite knocked up,old girl?" Norah only shook her head--she did not know that she wastired. Neither spoke again.

  It was perhaps a mile further on that Norah pulled up sharply, andwhistled to Tait. The collie had slipped off into the undergrowth--shecould hear him moving on dry sticks that crackled beneath him. Hewhined a little, but did not come.

  "Don't wait," Jim said. "He'll catch us up in a minute."

  "He always comes if I whistle," Norah answered, her brow puckering. "Idon't understand. Wait a moment, Jim." She had slid off her pony andfollowed Tait almost before Jim realized that she was gone.

  The dog was nosing along a big log, the ruff on his neck bristling. AsNorah saw him he leaped upon it, and down on the other side. Then sheheard him bark sharply, and flung herself over the log after him. Hewas licking something that lay in the shadows, almost invisible atfirst, until the dim light showed a white glimmer. It was instinct morethan sight that told Norah it was her father's face.

  "Daddy--oh, Dad!"

  The wild cry turned Jim to stone for a moment--then he was off his horseand through the scrub like a madman to where Norah knelt beside thestill form, sobbing and talking incoherently, and screwing blindly atthe cap of the flask she carried. They forced a little of the stimulantbetween the set teeth, once a terrified examination had told them thathe still breathed; then Jim struck match after match, trying to see theextent of his injuries--a hopeless task by the flickering light thatlasted only an instant. He put the box in his pocket at last.

  "It's no good," he said, "we can't see. Wonder if the men are out ofhearing." Running to the horses, standing patiently with trailingbridles, he fired off all his revolver shots in quick succession, andcoo-ed again and again. Then he went back to where Norah sat in thedarkness and held her father's hand.

  "Don't wait," she said. "I'm sure they're out of hearing, Jim, darling.And we couldn't dare to move him by ourselves. Tear in and bring themen--and send for the doctor."

  "I don't like to leave you here alone," he said, anxiously.

  "Alone!" Norah said, in amazement. "But I've got Dad!"

  "Yes," he said, "but--"

  "Oh, do fly, Jimmy!" she said. "Leave me the matches. I'm all right."

  She heard him crash back to the horses, and then the swift thud ofNan's hoofs grew fainter and fainter as he spurred her madly over therough ground, galloping off for help. The darkness seemed all at onceto be more complete, and the scrub to come closer, like a curtain roundthem--round her and Dad, who was found again. She put her ear close tohis mouth--the breathing was a little more distinct, and so far as shecould tell his head was uninjured. One leg was doubled up beneath himin an ugly manner. Norah knew she must not try to move it; but even inthe darkness she was sure that it was badly hurt, and the tears werefalling on David Linton's face as Norah crept back after herexamination. It was horrible to see Dad, of all people, helpless andstill.

  Perhaps it was the tears that woke him from his stupor. He stirred alittle, and groaned. At the sound, Norah, on her knees beside him,trembled very exceedingly, with a mixture of joy and fear that almosttook her breath. She spoke softly.

  "Dad!"

  "Is it--you?" said David Linton, weakly. The darkness hid his face, butto hear his voice again was wonderful; and Norah's hands shook as shewrestled with the flask.

  "Yes, it's me," she said. "Oh, Dad, dear old Dad, are you much hurt?"

  "I don't know." The voice was very faint. Her fears surged back.

  "Try to drink some of this--it's weak, and you won't choke," she said."Is your head hurt, Daddy? Could I lift it a little?"

  "Not hurt," he managed to say. So she groped in the darkness to liftthe heavy head, and together they made a sorry business of the flask,spilling far more than he drank. Still, some went the right way; andpresently he spoke again, his voice stronger.

  "I knew you'd come... mate."

  "Tait found you," she said. "And Jim was here, but he's gone for themen. We'll take care of you, Daddy. Could I move you any way to help?"

  "Better not," he said. "Just--be there." His hand closed on hers, and heseemed to slip off into unconsciousness again, for when she spoke tohim he did not answer. So Norah sat and held his hand; and the nightcrept on.

  "Coo-ee!" Far off a shout. She slipped her hand away gently, and ran alittle way before answering, lest the cry should startle him. Then sheshouted with all her strength; and soon the beat of hoofs came nearerand out of the darkness Jim came back, Murty galloping with him.

  "He's spoken," said Norah; "but he's gone off again. And he's had somewhisky."

  "Did he know you?"

  "Yes; but he's terribly weak." They were all beside Mr. Linton now, andMurty struck a match, and carefully shading it, scanned the fallenman's face by its glimmer. Norah saw his own change as he looked. Thenthe match went out, and for a moment it was darker than ever.

  "They're bringing things," Jim said. He took off his coat and spread itover his father, and Murty did the same. "And the doctor's coming--it'swonderful luck--he came out from Cunjee with Wally." Jim put his hand onNorah's. "Were you all right, old kiddie?"

  "Quite right," said she. Then they waited silently until a rattle ofwheels came as the express wagon clattered up. Murty went out to thetrack to bring the doctor in.

  Dr. Anderson cast a glance at Norah by the light of the lanterns theyhad brought, and spoke to Jim.

  "Take her away," he said. "I don't want you, either. Murty and Boonewill help me." So the two who were only children wandered off into thescrub together, sitting on a log, silently, in sick anxiety, while thedoctor was busy. A groan came to them once, and Norah shuddered and puther face into her hands, while Jim, who had himself shivered at thesound, put his arm round her, and tried to whisper something, only hisvoice would not come. Then--ages later, it seemed--the doctor's voice:

  "Are you two there?"

  They hurried to him.

  "We'll get him home," the doctor said. "A risk, moving him; but it'sworse to leave him lying under that log. The men are getting some ofthe dogwood down, so that we can carry him out better. He's badlyknocked about, but his head's all right. The leg is the worst; it'sfractured in two places. You'll have a patient for a good while,Norah."

  "Then--then he won't die?"

  "Die?" said the doctor. "Not a bit of it! He'll--ah, you poor child!"For Norah had turned and clung to Jim, and was sobbing, while the bigfellow who bent over her and patted her was himself unable to speak.Little Dr. Anderson patted them both, and choked himself, though he hidit professionally with a cough. He remarked afterwards that he had notknown that young Norah Linton could cry.

  It was only for a minute, though. The men came back carrying astretcher, and Norah and Jim sprang to help. Very gently they liftedDavid Linton's unconscious form, and the four bore him slowly to thewagon, Norah backing in front with two lanterns to light every step.

  "Chancy work through them dorgwood spikes," said Dave Boone. But theycame out safely, and got him into the wagon, where a mattress was inreadiness. The doctor heav
ed a sigh of relief when the business wasdone. So they took him home, the grey horses pulled into a slow walk,while Jim and Norah rode ahead to find the smoothest track.

  It was past midnight when the lights of the homestead came into view;but everywhere Billabong was up. The men were round the open gate ofthe yard, from Andy Ferguson, the tears running unheeded down his oldface, to Lee Wing, for once without his wide benevolent smile, and inthe background Lal Chunder's dark face. Beyond them was Mrs. Brown,with the pale-faced girls behind her. There were a score of willinghands to bring David Linton into his home.

  A little later Jim came out to where Norah waited in the hall, a littlehuddled figure in one corner of a leather armchair.

  "He's quite comfortable," he said; "hasn't spoken, but the doctor saysit's a natural sleep, and Brownie and he are going to sit with him. Oldkiddie, are you awfully tired?"

  "I'm not tired one bit!" said Norah, with no idea that she was notspeaking the exact truth.

  "H'm!" said Jim, looking at her. He went into the dining-room,returning a minute later with a glass of wine.

  "You're to have this," he said authoritatively, "and then I'm going toput you to--"

  He broke off, looking at her with a little smile on his tired face.Norah had put her head down on the arm of the big chair, and was fastasleep.

  CHAPTER XX

  MATES

  The sleepy river murmurs low, And far away one dimly sees, Beyond the stretch of forest trees, Beyond the foothills dusk and dun, The ranges sleeping in the sun. A. B. PATERSON.

  Autumn was late that year at Billabong, and the orchard trees werestill green, though a yellow leaf showed here and there in the Virginiacreeper, as David Linton lay on the verandah and looked out over thegarden. From his couch he could see the paddock beyond, and here andthere the roan hides of some of his Shorthorns. They did not generallygraze there; but Jim had brought some into the paddock the day before,remarking that he was certain his father would recover much morequickly if he could see a bullock now and then. So they grazed, and layabout in the yellow grass, and David Linton watched them contentedly.

  From time to time Mrs. Brown's comfortable face peeped out from door orwindow, with an inquiry as to her master's needs; but he was not anexacting patient, and usually met her with a smile and "Nothing,Brownie, thanks--don't trouble about me." Lee Wing came along,shouldering a great coil of rubber hose like an immense grey snake, andstopped for a cheerful conversation in his picturesque English; andBilly, arriving from some remote corner of the run, left his horse atthe gate and came up to the verandah, standing a black statue in shirt,moleskins and leggings, his stockwhip over his arm, while Mr. Lintonasked questions about the cattle he had been to see. Afterwards Mrs.Brown brought out tea, having met and routed with great slaughterSarah, who was anxious to have the honour that up to to-day had beenNorah's alone.

  "It's dull for you, sir," she said. "No mistake, it do make adifference when that child's not in the house!"

  "No doubt of that," Mr. Linton said. "But I'm getting on very well,Brownie, although I certainly miss my nurses."

  "Oh, we can make you comferable an' all that," Brownie said,disparagingly. "But when it comes to a mate, we all know there ain'tany one for you like Miss Norah--though I do say Master Jim's as handyin a sick-room as that high-flown nurse from Melbourne ever was--I'mglad to me bones she's gone!" said Brownie, in pious relief.

  "So am I," agreed the squatter hastily. "Afraid I don't take kindly tothe imported article--and I'm perfectly certain Norah and she nearlycame to blows many times."

  "An' small wonder," said Brownie, her nose uplifted. "Keepin' her outof your room, if you please--or tryin' to--till Miss Norah heard youcallin' her, an' simply came in at the winder! An' callin' her 'ducksybird.' I ask you, sir," said Brownie, indignantly, "is 'ducksy bird'the thing anybody with sense'd be likely to call Miss Norah?"

  "Poor Norah!" said Mr. Linton, laughing. "She didn't tell me of thatindignity."

  "Many a trile Miss Norah had with that nurse as I'll dare be sworn,she'd never menshin to you, sir," Brownie answered. "She wouldn't let abreath of anything get near you that'd worry you. Why, it was threeweeks and more before she'd let you be told about Bobs!"

  David Linton's brow darkened.

  "I couldn't have done any good, of course," he said. "But I'm sorry Icouldn't have helped her at all over that bad business. Well, I hopeProvidence will keep that young man out of my path in future!"

  "An' out of Billabong," said Brownie with fervour. "Mr. Cecil's saferaway. I guess even now he'd have a rough time if the men caught him--an'serve him right!"

  "He seems penitent," Mr. Linton said, "and even his mother wrote abouthim more in sorrow than in anger. The atmosphere of admiration in whichhe has always lived seems to have cooled, which should be an uncommonlygood thing for Cecil. But I don't want to see him."

  "Nor more don't any of us," Brownie said, wrathfully. "Billabong hadenough of Mr. Cecil. Dear sakes!--when I think of him clearin' away fromMiss Norah that night, an' what might have 'appened but for thatblessed 'eathen, Lal Chunder, I don't feel 'ardly Christian, that Idon't! Not as she ever made much of it--but--poor little lamb!"

  Mr. Linton's face contracted, and Brownie left the topic hastily. Italways agitated the invalid, who had indeed only been told of Norah'snight adventure because of the risk of his hearing of it suddenly fromoutsiders or a newspaper. The district had seethed over the child'speril, and Lal Chunder had found himself in the embarrassing positionof a hero--which by no means suited that usually mild-mannered Asiatic.He had developed a habit of paying Billabong frequent, if fleeting,calls; apparently for the sole purpose of looking at Norah, for herarely spoke. There was no guest more welcome.

  Presently Murty O'Toole and Dave Boone came round the corner of theverandah.

  "Masther Jim gev special insthructions not to be later'n half-past fourin takin' y' in, sir," said the Irishman. "The chill do be comin' inthe air afther that, says he. An' Miss Norah towld me to be stern widye!"

  "Oh, did she?" said Norah's father, laughing. "Well, I suppose I'dbetter be meek, Murty, if the orders are so strict--though it's warmenough out here still."

  "The cowld creeps up from thim flats," Murty said, judicially. "An'whin y' are takin' things aisy--well, y' are apt to take a cowld aisy aswell."

  "I'm certainly taking things far too easy for my taste," Mr. Lintonsaid, smiling ruefully. "Five weeks on my back, Murty!--and goodnessknows how much ahead. It doesn't suit me."

  "I will admit there's some on the station 'twould suit betther," Murtyanswered. "Dave here, now--sure, he shines best whin he's on his back!an' I can do a bit av that same meself. ("You can that!" from theoutraged Mr. Boone.) But y' had the drawback to be born widout a lazybone in y'r body, so 'tis a hardship on y'. There is but wan thingthat's good in it, as far as th' station sees."

  "What's that, Murty?"

  "Mrs. Brown here do be tellin' me Miss Norah's not to go away--an'there's not a man on the place but slung up his hat!" said theIrishman. "Billabong wouldn't be the same at all widout the littlemisthress--we had a grudge agin that foine school in Melbourne, so wehad. However, it's all right now." He beamed on his master.

  "Only a postponement, I'm afraid, Murty," said that gentleman, whobeamed himself, quite unconsciously.

  "Yerra, it's no good lookin' ahead--time enough to jump over the bridgewhen y' come to it," said Murty, cheerfully. "Annyhow, she'll not belavin' on us yit. Well, if y' are ready, sir?" He nodded to Boone andtook up his position at the head of Mr. Linton's couch.

  "I'll go into the dining-room," the squatter said, as they carried himgently into the hall. "Put me near the window, boys--no, the one lookingdown the track. That's all right," as his couch came to anchor in thebay of a window that gave a clear view of the homestead paddock. Hechatted to them awhile longer before wishing them good-night.

  The stockmen tramped out, making violent efforts to be noiseless.

  "Whisht, can't y'?"
said Murty, indignantly, as Dave cannoned into achair in the hall. "Have y' not got anny manners at all, thin, Davy?wid' him lyin' there, an' good luck to him! Did y' see how he made usput his sofy in that square little winder?"

  "Why?" asked the slower Mr. Boone.

  "An' what but to see the first glimpse av them kids comin' home? Y' dobe an ass, Davy!" said Murty, pleasantly. "Begob, 'tis somethin' f'r aman's eyes to see how Miss Norah handles that bay horse!"

  Left to himself, David Linton made a pretence at reading a paper, buthis eyes were weary, and presently the sheet crackled to the floor, andlay unheeded. Brownie, coming in softly, thought he had fallen asleep,and tiptoed to the couch with a light rug, which she drew over him.They handled him very carefully; although his clean, hard life hadhelped him to make a wonderful recovery, his injuries had been severe;and it would be many weeks yet before he could use his leg, even withcrutches. The trained nurse from Melbourne, who had been more or less anecessary evil, or, as Jim put it, "an evil necessary," had beendispensed with a week before; and now he had as many attendants asthere were inhabitants of Billabong, with Norah as head nurse andBrownie as superintendent, and Jim as right-hand man. Once there hadbeen a plan that Jim should go North, for other experience, afterleaving school. But it was never talked of now.

  This was the first day, since they had brought her father home, thatNorah had been induced to leave him; and then it had taken a command onhis part to make her go. She was growing pale and hollow-eyed with thelong watching.

  Dr. Anderson, whose visits were becoming rarer, had prescribed a tonic,which Norah had taken meekly, and without apparent results.

  "The tonic she wants is her own old life," Brownie had said. "Stickin'inside the house all day! it's no wonder she's peakin' and pinin'. Makeher go out, sir." So David Linton had asserted himself from his couch;and Jim had taken Norah for a ride over the paddocks, and to call forthe mail at the Cross Roads, where the Billabong loose bag was left bythe coach three times a week.

  He was lying with his eyes fixed on the track when they came out of thetrees; both horses at a hand gallop and pulling double. Norah was onGarryowen, her face flushed and laughing, her head thrown back a littleas the beautiful bay reefed and plunged forward, enjoying the speed asmuch as his rider. Jim was a length or so behind on Monarch, whose oneambition at that moment was, in Murty's words, "to get away on him." Itwas plain that the boy was exulting in the tussle. The sunlight gleamedon the black horse's splendid side as they dashed up the track.

  As yet there had been no talk openly of a successor to Bobs--that woundwas still too sore. For the present Norah was to ride Garryowen, sinceMonarch was far too frivolous to stand a long spell; Jim would handlehim for the months that must elapse before his father was in the saddleagain. Later on, Jim and Mr. Linton had great plans for something veryspecial--a new pony that would not disgrace Bobs' memory, and that wouldfit the unused rug with the scarlet B that lay locked away in Norah'swardrobe. Other things were locked away in her heart; she never spokeof Bobs. But the two who were her mates knew.

  The swift hoofs came thudding up the track and scattered the gravel bythe gate; then there was silence for a moment, voices and laughter, andquick footsteps, and Jim and Norah came in together, their facesglowing.

  "How did you get on, Dad? Were we long?"

  "Long!" said David Linton, whose face had grown suddenly contented."The conceit of some people! Why, I had so much attention paid me thatI scarcely noticed you had gone." He put up one hand and took Norah'sas she sat on the arm of his couch. "But I'm glad you're back," headded. They smiled at each other.

  "Conceit's bad enough," said Jim, grinning, "but insanity's worse. Hadthe maddest ride of my life, Dad--my poor old Garryowen's absolutelycowed, and has no tail left to speak of!" He ducked to avoid a cushionfrom his sister. "It's a most disastrous experiment to keep Norah off ahorse for five weeks!"

  "We won't repeat it," said her father, "not that Garryowen seemed to besuffering from nervous prostration as he came up the paddock--or Monarcheither! Any letters?"

  "One from Wally," Norah cried, "poor old boy. He says school is horridwithout Jim, and he's collar-proud, and they lost the match lastSaturday--he carried out his bat for thirty-seven, though!--and he missesBillabong, and he sends his love and all sorts of messages to you, Dad.I guess Brownie and I will fix up a hamper for him," concluded Norah,pensively, weighing in her mind the attractions of plum or seed cake,and deciding on both. "And mice pies," she added, aloud.

  "What?" said her father, staring. "Oh, I see. Any other mail?"

  "Oh, the usual pile for you, Dad. Agents' letters and bills and things.Jim has them. We didn't bring the papers."

  "I should think not!" returned her father. "If I catch either of youcarrying loose papers on those horses--well, one broken leg is enough ina family of this size!"

  "Too much respect for Monarch, to say nothing of my legs," said Jim,laconically, producing a handful of letters. "There you are, Dad;that's all. Do you want anything? I'm going down to the little paddockfor a lesson in bullock driving from Burton."

  "How are you getting on in the art?" asked his father, smiling.

  "Oh, slowly. My command of language doesn't seem to be sufficient, forso far the team looks on me with mild scorn." Jim grinned. "It'snervous work for Joe, too. I got him with the tail of the whipyesterday, when I'd every intention of correcting old Ranger! However,I plod on, and Joe keeps well out of the way now. He yells instructionsat me from some way back in the landscape!"

  "Prudent man, Burton," laughed his father. "A good tutor, too. I don'tknow that I ever saw a man handle bullocks better. Most people don'tcredit bullocks with souls, but I think Joe gets nearer to finding thatattribute in his beasts than the average driver, and with lessexpenditure of energy and eloquence! He's like the man we were readingabout, North:

  "As to a team, over gully and hill, He can travel with twelve on the breadth of a quill!"

  "Oh, COULD he?" asked Jim, with much interest. "Well, the width of thepaddock doesn't seem more than enough for me, so far. We wobblemagnificently, the team and I! However, I keep hoping! I'd better begoing. Sure you don't want me, Dad?"

  "Not just now, old chap."

  "Well, I'll be back before long." He smiled at his father and Norah,swinging out over the window ledge, and whistling cheerily until hislong legs had carried him out of sight.

  "He'll be a good man on the place, Norah."

  "Why, of course," said Norah, a little surprised that statement shouldbe made of so evident a fact. "Murty says he's 'takin' howld wid' bothhands, an' 'tis the ould man over agin,' though it's like Murty's cheekto call you that. You won't be able to let him go away, I believe,Dad."

  "I don't see myself sparing him to any other place now," said Mr.Linton. "Nor the head nurse either!"

  Norah slipped down beside him.

  "I've been thinking," she said, a little anxiously. "It's been solovely to think of no old school until midwinter--but I'd go sooner--whenyou're quite well--if you're worried really, Dad. I don't want to be aduffer--and of course I don't know half that other girls know."

  "Jim will be able to keep you from going back, I expect," her fathersaid, watching the troubled face. "He won't be exactly a stern tutor,and possibly lessons may be free and easy; still, after all, Jim was aprefect, and the handling of unruly subjects is probably not unknown tohim."

  "If Jim attempts to be a prefect with me," said Norah, "things will bemixed!" She laughed, but the line came back into her forehead. "It'snot the lessons I was thinking of, Dad."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Oh, all the other things I don't know that other girls do. Do youthink it really matters, Dad? I know perfectly well I don't do my hairproperly--"

  "I seem to like it."

  "And I can't talk prettily--you know, like Cecil did; and I don't know asingle blessed thing about fancywork! I'd--I'd hate you to be ashamed ofme, Dad, dear!"

  "Ashamed?" He held her close; and when he
spoke again there wassomething in his voice that made Norah suddenly content.

  "Little mate!" was all he said.