Bart was on Wilgandra Station to meet them—Bart, healthy-looking and sinewy, if thin; he wore white flannel trousers, a white linen coat, and a new straw hat with a new fly-veil attached. Mrs. Cameron had looked when her husband cried, 'There's Bart,' with eyes that expected to see an out-at-elbow lad, possibly barefoot, probably ill-developed. But there was nothing she would have changed.
'Of course they all wanted to come to meet you,' the boy said, when the first glad greetings were over, and the great panting, shrieking train had become just a quiet black thread climbing the side of the next rise. 'But I didn't want to crowd the buggy.'
'The buggy!' his father said. 'I was just going into the hotel to get one. I'm glad you thought to order it.'
'It's Mr. Stevenson's,' Bart said. 'He sent it down this morning for me to meet you in,' and he led them with much satisfaction to the handsome roomy sociable he had in waiting. Their own solitary equipage, the shabby cart drawn by Tramby and driven by young Daly, was in readiness for the many boxes.
Once, in carrying the luggage to the cart, Bart and his father found themselves alone on the station for a moment. Bart gave a laughing glance from his father's to his own apparel.
'Isn't it a lark?' he said. 'I feel quite shy of myself, don't you?'
'Do the girls look nice?' Cameron said anxiously.
'Spiffin,' said Bart, 'and Miss Browne's got a new dress, and even curled her hair. I say, have you told mother about Miss Browne?'
'Yes, she is quite prepared.'
'And she knows about the selection?'