"I'm awfully sorry, Dad," she had said, "But I'm too busy."
"Busy, are you? What at?"
"Oh, cooking and things," Norah had answered. "Brownie's not very well, and I said I'd help her—there's a lot to do just now, you know." She stood on tiptoe to kiss her father. "Good-bye, Dad—don't be too long, will you? And take care of yourself!"
Cecil also had declined to go out, giving "letters to write" as a reason. The truth was that several rides had told on the town youth, whose seat in the saddle was not easy enough to prevent his becoming stiff and sore. Bush people are used to this peculiarity in city visitors, and, while regarding the sufferers with sympathy, generally prescribe a "hair of the dog that bit them"—more riding—as the quickest cure; which Cecil would certainly have thought hard-hearted in the extreme. However, nothing would have induced him to say that he had felt the riding, since Cecil belonged to that class of boy that hates to admit inferiority to others. So he suffered in silence, creaked miserably at his uprising and down-sitting, and was happily unaware that everyone in Billabong knew perfectly well what was the matter with him.
Cecil and his mother were very good friends in the cool, polite way that was distinctive of them. They "fitted" together admirably, and as a general rule held the same views, the one on which they were most in accord being the belief in Cecil's own superior talents and characteristics. He wrote to her just as he would have talked, certain of her absolute agreement. When his letter was finished he felt much relieved at having, as Jim said, "got it off his chest." Not that Cecil would ever have said anything so inelegant.
Sarah crossed the hall at the moment, carrying a tray of silver to be cleaned, and he called to her—
"Where is Norah?"
"Miss Norah's in the kitchen," said the girl shortly. The Billabong maids were no less independent than modern maids generally are, but they had their views about the city gentleman's manner to the daughter of the house. "On'y a bit of a kid himself," Mary had said to Sarah, indignantly, "but any one'd think he owned the earth, an' Miss Norah was a bit of it." So they despised Cecil exceedingly, and refrained from shaking up his mattress when they made his bed.
"Er—you may tell her I want to speak to her."
"Can't, I'm afraid," Sarah said. "Miss Norah's very busy, 'elpin' Mrs. Brown. She don't care to be disturbed."