Six ponies in a line against the stable yard fence—Bobs, with an eye looking round hopefully for Norah and sugar; Mick, most feather-headed of chestnuts, and Jim’s especial delight; Topsy and Barcoo, good useful station ponies, with plenty of fun, yet warranted not to break the necks of boy-visitors; Bung Eye, a lean piebald, that no one but black Billy ever thought of riding; next to him old Polly, packed securely with the day’s provisions. Two fishing-rods stuck out from her bundles, and a big bunch of hobbles jingled as she moved.
There was nothing in the saddles to distinguish Norah’s mount, for she, too, rode astride. Mr. Linton had a rooted dislike to side saddles, and was wont to say he preferred horses with sound withers and a daughter whose right hip was not higher than her left. So Norah rode on a dainty little hunting saddle like Jim’s, her habit being a neat divided skirt, which had the double advantage of looking nice on horseback, and having no bothersome tail to hold up when off.
The boys were dressed without regard to appearances—loose old coats and trousers, soft shirts and leggings. Red-striped towels, peeping out of Polly’s packs, indicated that Jim had not forgotten the possibilities of bathing which the creek afforded. A tin teapot jangled cheerfully against a well-used black billy.
“All right, you chaps?” Jim ran his eye over the ponies and their gear. “Better have a look at your girths. Come along.”
Norah was already in the saddle, exulting over the fact that, in spite of Jim’s prophecy that she would be late, she was the first to be mounted. Bobs was prancing happily, infected with the gaiety of the moment, the sweet morning air and sunshine, and the spirit of mirth that was everywhere. Mick joined him in capering, as Jim swung himself into the saddle. Billy, leading Polly, and betraying an evident distaste for a task which so hampered the freedom of his movements, moved off down the track.
Just as Wally and Harry mounted, a tall figure in pyjamas appeared at the gate of the back yard.
“There’s Dad!” Norah cried gleefully, cantering up to him. The boys followed.
“Had to get up to see the last of you,” Mr. Linton said; “not much chance of sleeping anyhow, with you rowdy people about.”
“Did we wake you, Dad?—sorry.”
“Very sorry, aren’t you?” Mr. Linton laughed at the merry face. “Well, take care of yourselves; remember, Norah’s in your charge, Jim, and all the others in yours, Norah! Keep an eye to your ponies, and don’t let them stray too far, even if they are hobbled. And mind you bring me home any amount of fish, Harry and Wal.”