“No. Just one brother—he’s in Captain Garrett’s regiment.”
“And you will go back to Australia after the war?”
“Oh, yes. We couldn’t possibly stay away from Australia,” Norah said, wide-eyed. “You see, it’s home.”
“And England has not made you care any less for it?”
“Goodness, no!” Norah said warmly. “It’s all very well in its way, but it simply can’t hold a candle to Australia!”
“But why?”
Norah hesitated.
“It’s a bit hard to say,” she answered at length. “Life is more comfortable here, in some ways: more luxuries and conveniences of living, I mean. And England is beautiful, and it’s full of history, and we all love it for that. But it isn’t our own country. The people are different—more reserved, and stiffer. But it isn’t even that. I don’t know,” said Norah, getting tangled—“I think it’s the air, and the space, and the freedom that we’re used to, and we miss them all the time. And the jolly country life——”
“But English country life is jolly.”
“I think we’d get tired of it,” said Norah. “It seems to us all play: and in Australia, we work. Even if you go out for a ride there, most likely there is a job hanging to it—to bring in cattle, or count them, or see that a fence is all right, or to bring home the mail. Every one is busy, and the life all round is interesting. I don’t think I explain at all well; I expect the real explanation is just that the love for one’s own country is in one’s bones!”