“Coo-ee!”
“Jim’s getting impatient, isn’t he?” said the Hermit. “Well, Miss Norah, if you’ll excuse my attire I’ll come. Shall I bring my damper?”
“Oh, please!” Norah cried. “We’ve never tasted damper.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” said the Hermit grimly. He picked up the fallen cake. “Let us away!” he said. “The banquet waits!”
During their walk through the scrub it occurred to Norah once or twice to wonder if her companion were really a little mad. He said such extraordinary things, all in the most matter-of-fact tone—but when she looked up at him his blue eyes twinkled so kindly and merrily that she knew at once he was all right, and she was quite certain that she liked him very much.
The boys were getting impatient. Lunch was ready, and when lunch has been prepared by Mrs. Brown, and supplemented by fresh blackfish, fried over a camp fire by black Billy, it is not a meal to be kept waiting. They were grouped round the table-cloth, in attitudes more suggestive of ease than elegance, when Norah and her escort appeared, and for once their manners deserted them. They gaped in silent amazement.
“Boys, this is The Hermit,” said Norah, rather nervously. “I—I found him. He has a camp. He’s come to lunch.”
“I must apologize for my intrusion, I’m afraid,” the Hermit said. “Miss Norah was good enough to ask me to come. I—I’ve brought my damper!”
He exhibited the article half shyly, and the boys recovered themselves and laughed uncontrollably. Jim sprang to his feet. The Hermit’s first words had told him that this was no common swagman that Norah had picked up.
“I’m very glad to see you, sir,” he said, holding out his hand.