"My dear, no! Old Bill will send a boy in to me long before there's any need to worry. Of course I'll keep in touch with him, but my own impression is that the northern tribes have long ago given us up as too hot to handle." He rose, stretching his great form; like many very big men he was constitutionally restless. "Come on, Lester, and we'll go and see if these youngsters have learned as much tennis as you and I have forgotten!"
CHAPTER XI.
SOMETHING OLD AND QUIET.
The horses were mustered in the homestead yard—twenty or thirty, ranging from Conqueror, towering over the mob, to the children's ponies—Merle's fiery little black, Bobby's quieter bay, and a diminutive Sheltie of ten hands, whose mission in life at present was to draw a tiny carriage sacred to the twinses. It was not yet seven o'clock, and the sun was slowly mounting into a sky of cloudless blue. Mr. Warner stood by the rail, looking over the restless horses. He glanced round, hearing a step.
"Hullo, my daughter!" he said cheerfully. "Coming out with the crowd?"
"Oh, yes, I s'pose so," Merle answered. "Where are we going, Daddy?"
"Oh, just for a ride round, to show the Lesters something of the place," he said. "We might send the cart out to meet us at Gaffney's Lagoon, and have lunch there—it's as good a place as any, isn't it?"
"Yes, I think so," Merle answered. "Will you ride Conqueror, daddy?"
"No, I'll give Bayard a turn. He's pretty fresh, and needs riding. So does Agility, by the way. I think I'll let young Downes go to give the horse exercise; he bucked with one of the black boys on Monday, but Downes can handle him. You'll ride Olaf, of course, and we'll put Mr. Lester on the horse he had yesterday—he liked him; and Mrs. Lester on Delight. What shall we give Dick?"
Merle hesitated.