“I was just beginning to wonder if any of you had fallen into the creek,” she said. “You must be hungry, poor dears. Supper’s ready.”
“Where’s Dad?” asked Norah.
“Your Pa’s gone to Sydney.”
“Sydney!”
“Yes, my dears. A tallygrum came for him—something about some valuable cattle to be sold, as he wants.”
“Oh,” said Jim, “those shorthorns he was talking about?”
“Very like, Master Jim. Very sorry, your Pa were, he said, to go so suddint, and not to see you again, and the other young gentlemen likewise, seein’ you go away on Monday. He left his love to Miss Norah, and a letter for you; and Miss Norah, you was to try not to be dull, and he would be back by Thursday, so he ’oped.”
“Oh,” said Norah, blankly. “It’s hardly a homecoming without Dad.”
Supper was over at last, and it had been a monumental meal. To behold the onslaughts made by the four upon Mrs. Brown’s extensive preparations one might have supposed that they had previously been starving for time uncounted.
“Heigho!” said Jim. “Our last day to-morrow.”