“It was pretty dreadful,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “I think we’re fairly certain to want an early lunch!”
They said good-bye to Mrs. Archdale reluctantly, with many thanks and promises to see her on the return journey. She held Norah’s hand a little, looking at her wistfully. The others had ridden on down the hill.
“Would you mind if I gave you a kiss?” she asked, hesitating over each word. “I haven’t kissed any one but Jack since—since . . .” Her voice trailed off into silence.
Norah bent down from the saddle quickly, and the poor woman flushed at the touch of the fresh young lips. She stood looking down the track long after the riders had vanished into the timber.
Atholton was not an exciting city. It consisted of a few scattered houses, most of them bark-roofed, since the cartage of roofing iron to this remote district was an expensive matter. No railway was within sixty miles, and communication with the outer world was by means of a coach, which ran twice a week. The Peak Hotel was the high-sounding appellation of the inn, where Mr. Linton and the boys had suffered many things. The Atholton inhabitants referred to it briefly as The Pub. There was a store, combining various matters; within its small compass could be found groceries, drapery, bread, meat, saddlery, and the post office; while at a pinch the storekeeper would undertake a commission for a plough, a tombstone or a piano. The only other business establishment was a blacksmith’s shop, where just now the smith was busy in shrinking a tyre for the wheel of a bullock dray. The bullocks, a fine team of ten polled Angus, were drooping their black heads wearily outside, the heavy yokes falling forward on their necks. Their driver propped his long form against the doorpost, and exchanged district news with the smith.
At the store Black Billy might be seen adjusting to the pack-saddle a bundle done up in sacking, and containing provisions. The storekeeper came out as the party rode up; after the manner of Bush storekeepers, all agog to talk.
“ ’Mornin’, Miss Linton,” he said, addressing Jean and Norah impartially. “Lovely day you’ve got for your ride, now—haven’t you? All the same, I wouldn’t mind bettin’ you’ll be pretty tired before you get up to the peak of old Ben Athol.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Norah said. “We don’t mind getting a bit tired.”
“In a good cause?” finished the storekeeper, chuckling at his own lightsome play of words. “Well, some have one idea of a lark, and some have another; I can’t see much meself in climbing up that stony old hill, but it’s all a matter of taste. And how did you get on at Mrs. Archdale’s?”
“She was very kind to us,” Norah answered, warmly.