"You are not to tell tales. I told you that the other day. You don't want to be a low-down black-fellow, do you?"
Peter's face was crumpled with anger, and there is no saying what he would have done if Bob had not exclaimed,—
"Hulloa, Peter! haven't you a word for me?"
The shock was complete. Mr. Chase had not mentioned Bob's arrival, and Peter was wholly unprepared for seeing him.
"Bob!" he shouted, "good old Bob!" and sprang like a young cat at the big fellow, who caught him skilfully.
"When you have quite done throttling me I shall be glad," said Bob, after enduring the embrace of the merciless little arms a moment.
"But how did you get here?" demanded Peter of the long memory. "Were you bewitched over to England?"
"Come, come," said Mr. Chase; "dinner first and stories afterwards. We shall have to eat cinders as it is, I expect, and cook will give notice to-morrow."
"Every one must come into the dining-room, father," laughed Aunt Dorothy; "I can't part with one of you yet. We will talk while we eat."
In a moment everything seemed changed. All the severity had faded from the old people's faces; they could not have looked more delightfully "grannyish" if they had tried. The dreadful barriers of formality were broken down; no noisier, freer family party had ever gathered in the Queensland home than the one that peopled the stately old dining-room that night.