“Good-bye, you chaps,” said the soldier lads. “Expect you’ll be in Flanders before we are—but we’ll meet you there. Keep Australia going!”
“Hope we’ll get a chance,” Jim said, “and not mess it up if we get it. We’ll try, anyhow. Good voyage. Don’t be sea-sick!”
“Same to you. Write to us if you can.”
“You too. Say good-bye to all the chaps we knew at school.”
“Good-bye, Norah, dear,” from an aunt. “Remember you’re growing up—you can’t be a Bush girl in England.”
“I’ll try,” said Norah meekly. “I expect every one will be too busy with the war to notice me.”
“I’m sure you’ll be a credit to us,” cried the aunt, inflicting a damp embrace. “If only you have a safe voyage!” She kissed Jim with fervour, and showed such signs of beginning on Wally that that timid youth retired precipitately into the crowd.
“All visitors ashore!” sang out a stentorian voice. People flocked down the gangway.
“You’ll write, won’t you, Norah?” asked Jean Yorke, a little shakily. Jean was a silent person, but Norah was very dear to her.
“Of course I will,” said Norah, hugging her. “And you—lots! Oh, won’t we want letters when we’re right away over there!”