“Wonder who they were?” she pondered. “Well, at least, there’s the postcard!” She opened the letter box, and drew out the documentary evidence, receiving not much information from Norah’s hastily-scrawled lines. She turned the card over.
“Well, I’m blessed!” she gasped. Keen disappointment was in her voice. She pondered for a moment and then hurried out, locking the office door firmly, and affixing to it a battered notice, which read: “Closed for dinner.” The fact that she had already dined did not trouble the free and independent soul of the postmistress.
Half an hour later the sound of galloping hoofs on the road behind them made the Billabong party look round. A cloud of dust resolved itself into the vision of the postmistress, mounted on a raking chestnut, and somewhat bulky in appearance, by reason of the fact that she had slipped on a habit skirt over her other apparel.
“She’s waving,” said Norah, much puzzled. “Let’s pull up.”
They waited. The postmistress arrived with a wide and friendly smile.
“Thought I’d never catch you up!” she panted. “Blessed if you didn’t forget to put any address on that postcard you wrote!” She produced the card, a good deal crumpled by the vicissitudes of travel.
“Well, I am a duffer!” ejaculated Norah. “But how awfully good of you to come after us!”
“It was indeed,” said Mr. Linton, warmly. He produced a pencil, and Norah scribbled the address and handed the card back. “Uncommonly kind and thoughtful. We’re very much obliged to you. I hope it didn’t give you very much trouble?”
“Not a bit!” said the postmistress, genially. She read the address with care, and tucked the card into her bodice. “Fact is,” she said, “I was just dead keen to know it meself! Well, I must be gettin’ back—me office is shut up, an’ the coach is nearly due. So long!” She wheeled the chestnut, galloping back to the township.