“No, I'm truly all right,” Wally assured her. He suddenly realized that he had not known how tired he was; something in his head began to whirl round, and a darkness came before his aching eyes. He felt Jim catch him; and then he was sitting on the ground, propped against the fence, and blinking up at them all, while indignantly assuring them that he had never been better.
“Did you meet the fire? It was away from here before I got here.”
“It crossed the road in front of us,” Mr. Linton said. “There were a good many men about by that time—we got it stopped before it reached Elston's.” His pitying eyes went back to the brother and sister. Anxiety for Wally had drawn them from their own disaster for a moment; now they had moved away together, and stood looking at the ashes of their home, where so many hopes were ashes, too. David Linton went over to them, and put a hand on a shoulder of each.
“You're not to be down-hearted,” he said firmly. “It's bad enough, and bitter enough—but it might be worse. The stock are safe, and the land is there—one good shower will turn the paddocks green again. Why, there's even most of your garden left, Tommy. And we'll build the house and sheds better than before.”
“You're jolly good, Mr. Linton,” Bob said, with dry lips. “But we owe you enough already.”
“If you talk that sort of nonsense, I'll be really annoyed,” David Linton said. “Why, hard luck comes to all of us—we got burned out ourselves once, didn't we, Norah?”
“Rather—and had to live in tents,” said Norah. “No, you'll have to come back to us at Billabong until we build up the cottage again—oh, and, Tommy darling, I've been lonesome for you!” She put a hand on Bob's arm. “You won't worry, Bob? One bit of bad luck isn't going to beat you!”
“I suppose it won't,” Bob said slowly. “There's the insurance money, anyhow. But it was the jolliest little home—and our very own. And I was so jolly proud of being independent.”
“Well, you're that still,” Jim said. “This is a country where everybody helps everybody else—because you and Tommy come to stay with us, and run your stock for a while on Billabong until your own grass grows, that isn't going to make you less independent. Wouldn't you do the same for us, if we were in the same box?”
“That goes without saying—and I'm as grateful as I can be,” Bob said. “But the cases are different. I'm deep enough in your debt, as it is. I—” His lip quivered, and he turned away, staring at the ruins.