“Murty him send me,” Billy explained. “Big pfeller shorthorn bullock him bogged in swamp—baal us get him out. Want rope an’ horses.”
“Where?”
“Far Plain. That pfeller silly-fool bullock—him just walk in boggy place. Big one—nearly fat.”
Jim whistled.
“Nice game getting him out will be. Well, you’ve got your job, Wally, old man, and if you take my advice, you’ll borrow some of my dungarees to tackle it. There’ll be much mud. Billy, you run up old Nugget and put a collar and trace chains on him, and lead him out. Take some bags—we’ll bring ropes. Tell one of the boys to saddle our horses—they’re in the stable.”
“Can I come, Jim?” Norah asked.
“Yes, of course; but you can’t very well help, so your habit will be all right; good thing you hadn’t got out of it,” said Jim casting a glance at his sister’s neat divided skirt and blue serge coat. “You might cut along, if you’re ready, and hurry up the horses; Wally and I must go and change.” The boys clattered into the hall and up the stairs.
Mr. Linton, who had retreated to his office, came out at the noise.
“Anything the matter, Norah?”
Norah explained briefly, securing her felt hat the while.