Norah struggled hard with that abominable lump in her throat, despising herself heartily.
“Brownie’ll be awfully good to you,” went on Jim. “You’ll have to buck up, you know, old girl, and not let yourself get dull. You practise like one o’clock; or make jam, or something; or get Brownie to let you do some cooking. Anything to keep you ‘from broodin’ on bein’ a dorg,’ as old David Harum says. There’s all the pets to look after, you know—you’ve got to keep young black Billy up to the mark, or he’ll never feed ’em properly, and if you let him alone he changes the water in the dishes when the last lot’s dry. And, by George, Norah”—Jim had a bright idea—“Dad told me last night he meant to shift those new bullocks into the Long Plain. Ten to one he forgot all about it, going away so suddenly. You’ll have to see to it.”
“I’d like that,” said Norah, feeling doubtfully for her voice.
“Rather—best thing you can do,” Jim said eagerly. “Take Billy with you, of course, and a dog. They’re not wild, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble—only be very careful to get ’em all—examine all the scrub in the paddock. Billy knows how many there ought to be. I did know, but, of course, I’ve forgotten. Of course Dad may have left directions with one of the men about it already.”
“Well, I could go too, couldn’t I?” queried Norah.
“Rather. They’d be glad to have you.”
“Well, I’ll be glad of something to do. I wasn’t looking forward to to-morrow.”
“No,” said Jim, “I know you weren’t. Never mind, you keep busy. You might drive into Cunjee with Brownie on Tuesday—probably you’d get a letter from Dad a day earlier, and hear when he’s coming home—and if he says he’s coming home on Thursday, Wednesday won’t seem a bit long. You’ll be as right as ninepence if you buck up.”
“I will, old chap. Only I wish you weren’t going.”
“So do I,” said Jim, “and so do the other chaps. They want to come again some holidays.”