“Now, Murty, don't you sit there grinnin' at me like a hyener—it isn't every day I get Miss Norah home.”
“It is not,” said Murty, taking his renewed cup and a large piece of bread and butter. “Sure, I'd not blame ye if ye fried bacon in the tea-pot—not this morning. I dunno, meself, am I on me head or me heels. All the men is much the same; they've been fallin' over each other, tryin' to get a little bit of extra spit-an'-polish on the whole place. I b'lieve Dave Boone wud 'a' set to work an' whitewashed the paddock fences if I'd encouraged him at all.”
“There's that Sarah,” said Mrs. Brown. “Ornery days it takes me, an alarum clock, an' Mary, to say nothin' of a wet sponge, to get her out of bed. But bless you—these last three days she's up before the pair of us, rubbin' an' polishin' in every corner. An' she an' 'Ogg at each other's throats over flowers; she wantin' to pick every one to look pretty in the 'ouse, an' 'Ogg wantin' every one to look pretty in the garden.”
“Well, Hogg's got enough an' to spare,” was Murty's comment. “No union touch about his work. I reckon he's put in sixteen hours a day at that garden since we heard they were comin'.”
“But there never was any union touch about Billabong,” said Mrs. Brown.
“Not much! We all know when we're well off,” said Murty. “I'll bet no union was ever as good a boss as David Linton.”
Two other men appeared at the kitchen door—Mick Shanahan and Dave Boone—each wearing, in defiance of regulations, some battered remnant of uniform that marked the “digger,” while Mick, in addition, would walk always with a slight limp. He was accustomed to say 'twas a mercy it didn't hinder his profession—which, being that of a horsebreaker, freed him, as a rule, from the necessity of much walking. Other men Billabong had sent to the war, and not all of them had come back; the lonely station had been a place of anxiety and of mourning. But to-day the memories of the long years of fighting and waiting were blotted out in joy.
“Come in, boys,” Mrs. Brown nodded at the men. “Tea's ready. What's it going to be?”
“Fine, I think,” said Boone, replying to this somewhat indefinite question with complete certainty as to the questioner's meaning. “I seen you an' Murty pokin' your heads up at them clouds, but there ain't nothin' in them.” A smile spread over his good-looking, dark face. “Bless you, it couldn't rain today, with Miss Norah comin' home!”
“I don't believe, meself, that Providence 'ud 'ave the 'eart,” said Mrs. Brown. “Picksher them now, all flyin' round and gettin' ready to start, and snatchin' a bite of breakfast—”