“Well—not much! Only I didn’t know if you really wanted to go, Daddy.”
“Why, yes,” said her father. “I think it would be rather a good idea, my girlie. There’s not much doing on the place just now. I could easily be spared. And we don’t want to leave our trip until the days grow shorter. The moon will be right, too. It will be full in four or five days—I forget the exact date. So, altogether, Norah, I think we’d better consult Brownie about the commissariat department, and make our arrangements to go immediately.”
“It’ll be simply lovely,” said his daughter, breathing a long sigh of delight. “Such a long time since we had a camping out—just you and me, Daddy.”
“Yes, it’s a good while. Well, we’ve got to make up for lost time by catching plenty of fish,” said Mr. Linton. “I hope you haven’t forgotten the whereabouts of that fine new hole of yours? You’ll have to take me to it if Anglers’ Bend doesn’t come up to expectations.”
A deep flush came into Norah’s face. For a little while she had almost forgotten the Hermit—or, rather, he had ceased to occupy a prominent position in her mind, since the talk of the Winfield murder had begun to die away. The troopers, unsuccessful in their quest, had gone back to headquarters, and Norah had breathed more freely, knowing that her friend had escaped—this time. Still, she never felt comfortable in her mind about him. Never before had she kept any secret from her father, and the fact of this concealment was apt to come home closely to her at times and cloud the perfect friendship between them.
“Master Billy will be delighted, I expect,” went on Mr. Linton, not noticing the little girl’s silence. “Anything out of the ordinary groove of civilisation is a joy to that primitive young man. I don’t fancy it would take much to make a cheerful savage of Billy.”
“Can’t you fancy him!” said Norah, making an effort to break away from her own thoughts; “roaming the bush with a boomerang and a waddy, and dressed in strips of white paint.”
“Striped indeed!” said her father, laughing. “I’ve no doubt he’d enjoy it. I hope his ancient instincts won’t revive—he’s the best hand with horses we ever had on the station. Now, Norah, come and talk to Brownie.”
Mrs. Brown, on being consulted, saw no difficulties in the way. A day, she declared, was all she wanted to prepare sufficient food for the party for a week—let alone for only three days.
“Not as I’ll stint you to three days,” remarked the prudent Brownie. “Last time it was to be three days—an’ ’twas more like six when we saw you again. Once you two gets away—” and she wagged a stern forefinger at her employer. “And there’s that black himp—he eats enough for five!”