“‘What is this all about?’”
“My word, we were glad to see Dad!” said Jim. “He came over and put his arm round Norah—poor little kid. Mrs. Lister had screwed her wrist till it was worse than ever it had been, and she was as white as a sheet. Dad helped her on with her clothes. All the time Mrs. Lister was pouring out a flood of eloquence against us, and was nearly black in the face with rage. Dad took no notice until Norah was dressed. Then he said, ‘Come to me in the study in twenty minutes,’ and he picked Norah up and carried her inside, where he dosed her, and fixed up her wrist. I put on my clothes and followed them.
“Norah and I never said anything until Mrs. Lister had told her story, which was a fine production, little truth, and three parts awful crams. Then Dad asked for our side, and we just told him. He knew we never told lies, and he believed us, and we told him some other things Mrs. Lister used to do to us in the way of bullying and spite. I don’t know that Dad needed them, because Norah’s wrist spoke louder than fifty tales, and he didn’t need any more evidence, though after all, she might have grabbed the bad wrist by mistake, and she had done far worse things on purpose. But the end of it was, Mrs. Lister departed that night, and Norah and I danced a polka in the hall when we heard the buggy drive off.”
“That being the case,” said Norah gravely, “we’ll all have an apple.”
The apples were produced and discussed, and then it was time to think of home, for the sun had long since left the glistening surface of the falls. So they gathered themselves up, and reluctantly enough left the beautiful scene behind them, with many a backward look.
The way home was rather silent. The shadow of the boys’ departure was over them all, and Norah especially felt the weight of approaching loneliness. With Dad at home it would have been easier to let the boys go, but the prospect of several days by herself, with only the servants for company, was not a very comforting one. Norah wished dismally that she had been born a boy, with the prospect of a journey, and mates, and school, and “no end of larks.” Then she thought of Dad, and though still dismal, unwished the wish, and was content to remain a girl.
There was a little excitement on the homeward trip over a snake, which tried to slip away unseen through the grass, and when it found itself surrounded by enemies, coiled itself round Harry’s leg, a proceeding very painful to that youth, who nevertheless stood like a statue while Jim dodged about for a chance to strike at the wildly waving head. He got it at last, and while the reptile writhed in very natural annoyance, Harry managed to get free, and soon put a respectful distance between himself and his too-affectionate acquaintance. Jim finished up the snake, and they resumed the track, keeping a careful look-out, and imagining another in every rustle.
“Well done, old Harry!” said Wally. “Stood like a statue, you did!”
“Thanks!” said Harry. “Jim’s the chap to say ‘Well done’ to, I think.”
“Not me,” said Jim. “Easy enough to try to kill the brute. I’d rather do that than feel him round my leg, where I couldn’t get at him.”