“Wish you were coming!” said Wally dismally. “Good-bye. Write to us, won’t you, Norah?”
“Now then, Master Jim!” Evans glanced at his watch.
“Right oh!” said Jim. He put his arm round the little girl’s shoulders and looked keenly into her face. There was no hint of breaking down. Norah met his gaze steadily and smiled at him. But the boy knew.
“Good-bye, little chap,” he said, and kissed her. “You’ll keep your pecker up?”
She nodded. “Good-bye, Jimmy, old boy.”
Jim sprang into the buggy.
“All right, Evans.”
They whirled down the drive. Looking back, waving their caps, the boys carried away a memory of a brave little figure, erect, smiling and lonely on the doorstep.
CHAPTER XII.
THE WINFIELD MURDER
The next few days went by slowly enough.