“I wish you’d bring some of your land to Mosman,” grinned the post-boy.
They became quite friendly with the tradesmen, too—the baker and butcher and milkman.
“It’s so funny to have you all coming here,” confided Eileen, “because up the country we bake our own bread and kill our own sheep, and old Joe milks the cows.”
They grew to know the people in the post office, too, as they would call in occasionally to see if a country letter happened to be delayed or missed in the sorting. At first the officials glared at them, but by-and-by they came to know the merry faces of the bush children, and only smiled at their questions.
They had only been a week in Mosman when they chummed up with the little boy next door.
“I wonder who our neighbors are,” Mollie had said the day after they had arrived and finished unpacking. “I’d love to talk to them.”
“Would you?” asked Mamma. “Well, we’ll have to wait a while. Sydney people are different to country; they know so many people that they mightn’t have time for more friends.”
“There’s a real nice-looking girl in there I’d love to know,” said Eileen, “and if she doesn’t soon speak I’ll speak to her.”
“And we want to know the little boy,” said Doris.
A few days later Doris and Baby spoke to the little, well-dressed boy, as he was coming down the steps on his way to school.