"At—WHERE?" asked Norah.
She had come in with the tea-tray in her hands—a little flushed from the fire, and her brown face alight with all the hundred-and-one things she had yet to tell Daddy. On the threshold she paused, struck motionless by that amazing speech. She looked a little helplessly from one face to the other; and the two who loved her felt the same helplessness as they looked back. It was not an easy thing to pass sentence of exile from Billabong on Norah.
"I—" said her father. "You see, dear—Dick having gone—you know, your aunt—" He stopped, his tongue tied by the look in Norah's eyes.
Brownie slipped into the breach.
"You're so big now, dearie," she said, "so, big—and—and—" With this lucid effort at enlightenment she put her apron fairly over her head and turned away to the open window.
But Norah's eyes were on her father. Just for a moment the sick sense of bewilderment and despair seemed to crush her altogether. She had realized her sentence in a flash—that the home that meant all the world to her, and from which Heaven only differed in that Mother was there, was to be changed for a new, strange world that would be empty of all that she knew and loved. Vaguely she had always known that the blow hung over her—now that it had fallen, for a moment there was no room for any other thought. Her look, wide with grief and appeal, met her father's.
And then she realized slowly that he was suffering too—that he was looking to her for the response that had never failed him yet. His silence told her that this thing was unavoidable, and that he needed her help. Mates such as they must stand by one another—that was part of the creed that had grown up in Norah's heart. Daddy had always said that no matter what happened he could rely upon her. She could not fail him now.
So, just as the silence in the room became oppressive, Norah smiled into her father's eyes, and carefully put the tea-tray upon the table.
"If you say it's got to be, well, that's all about it, Daddy," she said. The voice was low, but it did not quiver. "Don't worry, darling; it's all right. Sarah was out, and Mary goodness knows where, so I made tea myself; I hope it's drinkable." She brought her father's cup to his side and smiled at him again.
"My blessed lamb!" said Mrs. Brown, hastily—and fled from the room.