“Indeed, I won’t,” she answered, indignantly. “I’m much older than when I went away you must remember, Teddy, and I see things in a very different light,” and she sat up very straight.
“Yes, you’re a few months older,” guffawed Teddy, “but, all the same, you’ll always have a hankering after Sydney—all women and girls do. I bet the first hot day that comes next summer you’ll be wanting to get back to that there surf and the boat trips and all the rest of it; and you’ll take to your heels then and never stop running till you get there.” And then he laughed again till he nearly rolled out of the sulky.
“Really, Teddy, it doesn’t take much to amuse you.” said Eileen, and so they talked and argued all through the drive, while Teddy pulled up at the different mail-boxes, which were sometimes boxes nailed on a tree, or a kerosene tin sitting on a stump and secured there by a long nail. Papers and letters were thrown in and sometimes a parcel or a pound of butter or a loaf of bread, for Teddy acted as a general shopper at the little railway township. Then the horses would trot along again through the fresh clover that flicked, flicked, flicked against their hoofs, and filled the air with a crushed fresh smell of greenery, and Eileen drew in long, deep breaths and said it was “lovely.”
“Cripes!” said Ted, as he turned the horses sharply, and wheeled back to a mail-box off the road.
“Oh. Ted! Whatever are you turning back for?”
“Forgot to leave old Payne’s tobacco,” said Teddy.
“Oh, never mind it this time!” pleaded Eileen; “let him smoke tea-leaves or bark, or anything; why, it’s ever so far back!”
“No, I promised I’d fetch it,” declared Teddy, stoutly, “and a promise is a promise, even if it’s only made to old Payne,” and Teddy looked quite pleased with himself after this statement, while Eileen sat back in a resigned manner.
At last the little bridge near the homestead came in sight through the trees, and Eileen shouted aloud for joy.
“Thought you were going on the stage down there?” said Teddy, giving a parting shot.