“Rather!” said Norah, gratefully. “You’ve been a brick, Jimmy, and I feel much better. I’ll stow away my things in the wardrobe and drawers, and then I won’t have to haul my trunks often from under the berths.”
“Don’t you do it at all,” commanded Jim, sternly. “Wal or I will always be somewhere about, and anyhow, what’s a steward for? Well, I’ll leave you to fix up your fripperies, and go and fix my own. Call me if you want me.”
It was not altogether easy to remain cheerful over the boxes Brownie had packed so lovingly. The memory of the parting at Billabong was still too sore; in everything Norah touched she found reminders of the kind old face, struggling against tears, on that last morning when she had said good-bye to her. To say good-bye to Murty and the men—even to Black Billy; to the horses and dogs; to Billabong itself, peaceful and dear in its fringe of green trees; it had all been hard enough, and she ached yet at the thought. But Brownie was somehow different, and loved her better than any one on earth; and she was old, with no one to comfort her. Norah’s heart was heavy for the dear old nurse as she took out one neat layer of clothes after another, packed with sprigs of fragrant lavender that brought the very breath of the Billabong garden.
Then came a tap at the door, and a neat stewardess looked in.
“Your father sent me to see if I could help you, miss.”
“I don’t think so, thank you,” Norah answered, sitting on the floor of the cabin and looking up at her. “I’ve unpacked nearly everything. However do people manage when there are three in a cabin this size?”
“Why, I’ve known four,” said the stewardess, laughing. “Four—and grown up. Oh, they fit in somehow; the worst of it is if they all happen to be sick. That is rather hard on them—and on me. You’re very lucky, miss, to have so much room to yourself.”
“I suppose I am,” Norah assented, meekly. “It’s a little hard to realise. Do you ever get sick yourself?”
“Stewardesses aren’t supposed to—and they haven’t time,” said the other. “We wouldn’t be much good if we weren’t hardened sailors. Dinner’s at half-past seven, miss, and the dressing-bugle goes half an hour before. Shall I come in to fasten your frock?”
“Yes, please,” Norah answered. “I suppose we’ll be outside the Heads by then?”