“Come on,” he said. “I guess we’d better get back to the horses.”
CHAPTER XXI
BACK TO BILLABONG
And thro’ the night came all old memories flocking,
White memories like the snowflakes round me whirled;
“All’s well!” I said. “The mothers still sit rocking
The cradles of the world!”
—W. H. Ogilvie.
SO you’ll come?” David Linton asked.
“Yes, and glad to.” Jack Archdale pulled at his pipe, which would not draw. He took it out of his mouth, shook it, and put it back again with a shrug. It needed a grass stalk to clean the stem; but that is a performance that demands two hands, and one hand was given over to Babs, who sat on her mother’s knee on the next step of the verandah, imprisoning her father’s big finger in her moist little grasp. So the pipe went out, its owner deriving what comfort he might from holding it in his mouth.