“It is so lovely to be here,” she told Norah later, when the keen evening wind had driven them indoors from a tour of the garden. She was kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, unpacking her trunk, while Norah perched on the end of the bed. “You see, I am no longer afraid; and I have always been afraid since Aunt Margaret died. In Lancaster Gate I was afraid all the time, especially when I was planning to run away. Then, on the ship, though every one was so kind, the big, unknown country was like a wall of Fear ahead; even in Melbourne everything seemed uncertain, doubtful. But now, quite suddenly, it is all right. I just know we shall get along quite well.”
“Why, of course you will,” Norah said, laughing down at the earnest face. “You're the kind of people who must do well, because you are so keen. And Billabong has adopted you, and we're going to see that you make a success of things. You're our very own immigrants!”
“It's nice to be owned by some one who isn't my step-mother,” said Tommy happily. “I began to think I was hers, body and soul—when she appeared on that awful moment in Liverpool. I made sure all hope was over. Bob says I shouldn't have panicked, but then Bob had not been a toad under her harrow for two years.”
“I'm very glad you panicked, since it sent you straight into our arms,” said Norah. “If we had met you in an ordinary, stodgy way—you and Bob presenting your letter of introduction, and we saying 'How do you do?' politely—it would have taken us ages to get to know you properly. And as it was, we jumped into being friends. You did look such a poor, hunted little soul as you came dodging across that street!”
“And you took me on trust, when, for all you know, the police might have been after me,” said Tommy. “Well, we won't forget; not that I suppose Bob and I will ever be able to pay you back.”
“Good gracious, we don't want paying back!” exclaimed Norah, wrinkling her nose disgustedly. “Don't talk such utter nonsense, Tommy Rainham. And just hurry up and unpack, because tea will be ready at half-past six.”
“My goodness!” exclaimed the English girl, to whom dinner at half-past seven was a custom of life not lightly to be altered. “And I haven't half unpacked, and oh, where is my blue frock? I don't believe I've brought it.” She sought despairingly in the trunk.
“Yes, you have—I hung it up for you in the wardrobe ages ago,” said Norah. “And it doesn't matter if you don't finish before tea. There's lots of time ahead. However, I certainly won't be dressed if I don't hurry, because I've to see Brownie first, and then sew on a button for Jim. You'll find me next door when you're ready.” Tommy heard her go, singing downstairs, and she sighed happily. This, for the first time for two years, was a real home.
The education of the new-chums began next morning, and was carried out thoroughly, since Mr. Linton did not believe in showing their immigrants only the pleasanter side of Australian life. Bob was given a few days of riding round the run, spying out the land, and learning something about cattle and their handling as he rode. Luckily for him, he was a good horseman. The stockmen, always on the alert to “pick holes” in a new-chum, had little fault to find with his easy seat and hands, and approved of the way in which he waited for no one's help in saddling up or letting go his horse; a point which always tells with the man of the bush.
“We've had thim on this run,” said Murty, “as wanted their horses led gently up to thim, and then they climb into the saddle like a lady. And when they'd come home, all they'd be lookin' for 'ud be some one to casht their reins to, the way they cud strowl off to their tay. Isn't that so, Mick?”