Jack felt incredulous.
Lennie came out of her room, sniffing and wiping his eyes with his knuckles.
"Poor ol' girl!" he sniffed. "She do look frail. She's almost like a little girl again."
"You don't think she's dying, do you, Len?" asked Jack.
"I don't think, I knows," replied Len, with utmost scorn. "Sooner, or later she's bound to go hence and be no more seen. But she'll be missed, for many a day, she will."
"But Tom," said Jack. "Do you think Gran will like to have all the relations sniffling round her when she gets worse?"
"I should think so," replied Tom. "Anyway, I should like to die respectable, whether you would or not."
Jack gave it up. Some things were beyond him, and dying respectable was one of them.
"Like they do in books," said Len, seeing that Jack disapproved, and trying to justify Tom's position. "Even ol' Nelson died proper. 'Kiss me, 'Ardy,' he said, an' 'Ardy kissed him, grubby and filthy as he was. He could do no less, though it was beastly."
Still the boys were not sent for the relations until the following Sunday, which was a rest day. Jack went to the Gum Valley Homestead, because he knew the way. He set off before dawn. The terrific heat of the New Year had already passed, and the dawn came fresh and lovely. He was happy on that ride, Gran or no Gran. And that's what he thought would be the happiest: always to ride on at dawn, in a nearly virgin country. Always to be riding away.