“You could,” grinned Jim. “I’ll never forget the day I saw you start from the top of the hill near the house. The pram got a rate on of a mile a minute, and the sticks weren’t needed. About half-way down it struck a root, and turned three double somersaults in the air. I don’t know how many Norah turned—but when Dad and I got to the spot she was sitting on a thick mat of grass, laughing like one o’clock, and the pram was about half a mile away on the flat with its wheels in the air! We quite reckoned you were killed.”
“Yes, and Dad made me promise not to go down that hill again,” said Norah ruefully. “It was a horrid nuisance!”
“Well, there was a flood,” said Jim. “Not very much of a one. We’d had a good bit of rain, and the water-hole in the home paddock overflowed and covered all the flat about two feet deep. At first it was a bit too deep for Norah and her wheeled boat, but when it went down a bit she set off voyaging. She did look a rum little figure, out in the middle of the water, pushing herself along with her two sticks! Mrs. Lister didn’t approve of it, but as Dad had given her leave, the housekeeper couldn’t stop her.”
At this point Norah was heard to murmur “Cat!”
“Just so!” said Jim. “Well, you know, I used to poke fun at Norah and this thing. But one day I had gone down to the water’s edge, and she came up on it, poling herself through the water at a great rate, and it occurred to me it didn’t look half bad fun. So I suggested a turn myself.”
“You said, ‘Here, kid, let’s have that thing for a bit,’” said Norah firmly.
“Did I?” said Jim, with meekness.
“Yes, you did. So I kindly got off.”
“Then?” asked Harry.
“He got on. I said, ‘Jim, dear, pray be careful about the holes, and let me tell you where they are!’”