“I thought they were sea-dogs,” she laughed.
“You generally get the last word too,” he grumbled with adoring admiration. “But I tell you, Jinny, though there may be more money, all these new countries are terribly raw.”
“I know—‘no longer an egg, not yet a bird, only a smell,’ ” she quoted with wistful humour, and these words of his in the English wood last May evoked again for both of them all the magic of their love at its dawning.
They walked on in silence towards Frog Farm. After all, with their united treasure of youth, energy, and love, their livelihood was no grave problem. Larks were carolling, the little wrens piping, and ringdoves calling, calling, for the Spring was near after all, and the daffodils had already come. It seemed indeed a vain snapping of the heart-strings to leave such a homeland.
“That’ll be winter soon in Australia,” mused Will tenaciously.
“Not if we were together,” Jinny whispered, although the more she pondered during that wonderful walk the more the Antipodes receded to their geographical distance, the more shadowy grew the danger of falling off her planet. But, however they were to decide, she could see no reason—once her grandfather’s wedding-bells had rung—why they should not all live—wherever they all lived—happy ever after.
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