Jean giggled assentingly.
“H’m,” said Mr. Linton, gazing at her severely “I thought so. If ever there was an unfortunate brow-beaten, burnt-out man, he sits here! Well, to come to the point—if you’ll all let me—Jim and I came to the conclusion that we must migrate somewhere for the remainder of the holidays. We thought of the seaside—Queenscliff or Point Lonsdale, or possibly the Gippsland Lakes. That was to be a matter for general consideration. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t adhere, in the main, to the plan. But since the workmen will be at the station, we’ll have to choose a spot not far away, as I must be most of my time at home. I can go backwards and forwards, and Brownie can go with you to keep a watchful eye on your pranks.”
“H’m!” said Jim thoughtfully. “That’s pretty rotten for you, isn’t it?”
Nobody spoke for a few minutes. Then Wally said.
“What’s the matter with Billabong?”
Jean conquered her shyness with a tremendous effort, sitting up abruptly.
“If you’re going away for me, Mr. Linton,” she said, speaking very fast, and plucking grass with great determination of purpose, “please don’t. I don’t want to be taken anywhere.”
“But, my dear child,” David Linton said, “I can’t have you all in tents. And there isn’t any house. You didn’t come for your holidays to rough it.”
“There isn’t any roughing it,” said Norah, quickly. “If Jean and Wally don’t mind——”
“Mind!” said Wally. “Why, I’ll feel like a motherless foal if you take me away, and go about bleating!”