The old man started violently. He dropped his damper and gazed round.
“What on earth’s that?” he said. “Who’s there?” For a moment Norah hesitated. Should she run for her life? But a second’s thought showed her no real reason why she should run. She was not in the least frightened, for it never occurred to Norah that anyone could wish to hurt her; and she had done nothing to make him angry. So she modestly emerged from behind a friendly tree and said meekly, “It’s me.”
“‘Me’, is it?” said the old man, in great astonishment. He stared hard at the little figure in the blue blouse and serge riding-skirt—at the merry face and the dark curls crowned by the shady Panama hat. “‘Me’,” he repeated. “‘Me’ looks rather nice, I think. But what’s she doing here?”
“I was looking at you,” Norah exclaimed.
“I won’t be unpolite enough to mention that a cat may look at a king,” said the old man. “But don’t you know that no one comes here? No young ladies in blue dresses and brown curls—only wombats and wallabies, and ring-tailed ’possums—and me. Not you—me, but me—me! How do you account for being here?”
Norah laughed. She decided that she liked this very peculiar old man, whose eyes twinkled so brightly as he spoke.
“But I don’t think you know,” she said. “Quite a lot of other people come here—this is Anglers’ Bend. At least, Anglers’ Bend’s quite close to your camp. Why, only, to-day there’s Jim and the boys, and black Billy, and me! We’re not wallabies!”
“Jim—and the boys—and black Billy—and me!” echoed the old man faintly. “Angels and ministers of grace, defend us! And I thought I had found the back of beyond, where I would never see anyone more civilized than a bunyip! But—I’ve been here for three months, little lady, and have never come across anyone. Are you sure you’re quite serious?”
“Quite,” Norah answered. “Perhaps it was that no one came across you, you know, because people really do come here to fish. Dad and I camp here sometimes, but we haven’t been for more than three months.”
“Well, I must move, that’s all,” said the old man. “I do like quiet—it’s annoying enough to have to dress up and go into a township now and then for stores. How do you like my clothes, by the way? I may as well have a feminine opinion while I have the chance.”