“Oh, I don't think he'll worry greatly,” said Bob. “I must hurry, old girl, or I'll be late—and I want a tub before tea.”
The boys came down in flannels, ready for a game of tennis after tea; and Bob and Wally were just leaving the court after a stoutly-contested set, when black Billy brought the mail-bag across the lawn to Mr. Linton. The squatter unlocked it and sorted out the letters quickly.
“Nothing for you, Tommy; two for Norah; three for Bob, and bundles for Wally and Jim. Papers beyond counting, and parcels you girls can deal with.” He gathered up a package of his own letters. “Chiefly stock and station documents—though, I see, there's a letter from your aunt, Norah; I expect she's anxious to know when I'm going to cease bringing you up like a boy, and send you to Melbourne to be a perfect lady.”
“Tell her, never,” said Norah lazily. “I don't see any spare time ahead—not enough to make me into a lady after Aunt Winifred's pattern. Cecil is much more lady-like than I am.”
“He always was,” Jim said. “Years ago we used to wonder that he didn't take to wool-work, and I expect he'll do it yet. Even serving in the war didn't keep Cecil from manicuring his nails—he gets a polish on them that beats anything I ever saw.”
“Never mind—he's got a limp,” said Norah, in whose eyes that legacy of the war covered a multitude of sins.
“Well, he has. But he even limps in a lady-like way,” grinned Jim. “And he has no time for Wal and me. He told me that he was surprised that five years of France and England hadn't made us less Australian.”
“It's a matter of regret to us all,” said Norah placidly. “We hoped for great things when you came out—more attention to polite conversation, and a passion for top-hats, and—” At which point further eloquence was checked by a cushion placed gently, but firmly, by a brotherly hand on her face, and so she subsided, with a gurgle of laughter, into the cool depths of the buffalo grass where they were all lying.
“Oh, by Jove!” said Bob suddenly. He looked at them, and finally at Tommy, his eyes dancing.
“What's up, old man?” Jim asked. “Not your stepmother coming out?”