“Any fish in Marumbah River?”
“Lots and lots—two kinds of bream, Murray cod, jew fish, and speckled trout, and awful big eels.”
“Ha! that's good enough. Got fishing lines and hooks?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then bring 'em along. Where is Mary, Lizzie?”
“Here she is,” and Mrs Westonley brought her forward, the child's eyes dancing with pleasure; “she was too excited to eat any breakfast, until I insisted. Thomas, they'll worry you to death. You don't know them.”
Gerrard threw his feet up in the air, like a boy, and rapped his heels together—“I'm fit for anything—from fishing to riding bull calves, or cutting out a wild bees' nest from a gum tree a mile high. Oh! we're going to have a high old time. I say, Mary, where's the invalid Bunny?”
“In the saddle-room.”
“Then come along, and I'll prescribe for the poor, tailless gentleman,” and he jumped to his feet. “We shall not be long, Lizzie—are you ready?”
“I shall be in ten minutes, Thomas,” and the children looked wonderingly at her, for she actually smiled at them.