“There he is,” Norah said quickly, as a long shout sounded near at hand. The Hermit quickly went off in its direction, and presently returned, followed by Billy, whose eyes were round as he glanced about the strange place in which he found himself, although otherwise no sign of surprise appeared on his sable countenance. He carried the bags containing the picnic expedition’s supply of food, which Norah promptly fell to unpacking. An ample supply remained from lunch, and when displayed to advantage on the short grass of the clearing the meal looked very tempting. The Hermit’s eyes glistened as Norah unpacked a bag of apples and oranges as a finishing touch.
“Fruit!” he said. “Oh, you lucky people! I wish there were fruit shops in the scrub. I can dispense with all the others, but one does miss fruit.”
“Well, I’m glad we brought such a bagful, because I’m sure we don’t want it,” Norah said. “You must let us leave it with you, Mr. Hermit.”
“Water’s plenty boilin’,” said Billy
Tea was quickly brewed, and presently they were seated on the ground and making a hearty meal, as if the lunch of a few hours ago had never been.
“If a fellow can’t get hungry in the bush,” said Wally, holding out his hand for his fifth scone, “then he doesn’t deserve ever to get hungry at all!” To which Jim replied, “Don’t worry, old man—that’s a fate that’s never likely to overtake you!” Wally, whose hunger was of a generally prevailing kind, which usually afflicted him most in school hours, subsided meekly into his tea-cup.
They did not hurry over the meal, for everyone was a little lazy after the long day, and there was plenty of time to get home—the long summer evening was before them, and it would merge into the beauty of a moonlit night. So they “loafed” and chatted aimlessly, and drank huge quantities of the billy-tea, that is quite the nicest tea in the world, especially when it is stirred with a stick. And when they were really ashamed to eat any more they lay about on the grass, yarning, telling bush tales many and strange, and listening while the Hermit spun them old-world stories that made the time slip away wonderfully. It was with a sigh that Jim roused himself at last.
“Well,” he said, “it’s awfully nice being here, and I’m not in a bit of a hurry to go—are you, chaps?”
The chaps chorused “No.”
“All the same, it’s getting late,” Jim went on, pulling out his watch—“later than I thought, my word! Come on—we’ll have to hurry. Billy, you slip along and saddle up the ponies one-time quick!”