“I’ll know you thoroughly when I have you back at Billabong in your riding habit,” said her father. “But these clothes are nice, too. I’m not quarrelling with them. You’re not sorry to come back to your old Dad?” He paused, watching her.
“Sorry!” said Norah. “Sorry!” And then her tongue suddenly refused to do its duty. She put her head down on his shoulder, and drew a deep breath. His arms tightened round her. They were silent for a minute.
“Jim is a good mate,” said David Linton, “none better. But my little mate’s place has always been empty. It’s been a long time, my girl.”
“Long—to you, Daddy?”
“One of the longest I remember. You see, I never bargained for your spending midwinter having measles.”
“Neither did I,” said Norah, ruefully. The memory of that inconsiderate ailment was still a sore thing; at the time it had been almost too sore to be borne. “It seems just ages since I saw home. Is it just the same, Dad?”
“I don’t think there’s any difference. Everyone has been busy putting on a bit of extra polish for the last week; and Brownie says she’s half a stone lighter—but she doesn’t look it; and there’s a new inmate in the little paddock near the house calling for your immediate inspection!”
“A new inmate?” Norah echoed.
Jim had come in, unnoticed. He grinned down at her from the hearthrug.
“A rather swagger inmate,” he said, nodding. “Seeing how out of form you must be, I don’t think it will be wise to let you try him—we’ll put you up on an old stock horse for a week or so!”