“Ah, g’wan wid y’!” said the Irishman. “I’ll tell y’ about him to-morrow, Miss Norah—wanderin’ about for the last week like a lost foal, makin’ believe he was puttin’ on extry polish for ye! There’s the dog-cart, sir”—to Mr. Linton—“an’ another trap for the luggage.”
“We’ll need it!” said Mr. Linton dryly. “Miss Norah doesn’t travel as light as she used to, Murty.” He pulled his daughter’s hair. Murty, however, remained unmoved.
“An’ how could she?” he inquired. “Ye can’t have her growin’ up on y’ an’ expect her to go about wid a collar an’ a toothbrush!”
Mr. Linton sighed.
“I don’t know how much discipline they gave Norah at school, Jean,” he said—“but she’s sure to want an extra allowance next year, after the spoiling I foresee she’s to get at home. I appear to be the only person likely to keep her in order—and what am I among so many? Neither do I see why the statement should move either of you to such ribald mirth! Here’s Billy, and I hope he’ll be stern.”
But the black boy who held the horses was a grinning image of delight. He did not attempt to make any remarks; not, Jim said, that they were in any way necessary. You could not get beyond Billy’s grin. Even the stationmaster came up with a word of welcome.
“It’s very exciting—getting home,” Norah said.
Then they were in the high dog-cart; Jean and herself tucked into the front seat beside her father, while the boys made merry at the back. The brown cobs were making light of the fourteen-mile spin along the country roads that were all so dear and so familiar. It was beautiful to be behind them once more—to see their splendid heads tossing the jingling bits, and their glossy quarters gleaming in the light of the lamps. Yet it seemed long until they turned into the homestead paddock—and then the mile drive, fringed with pine trees, was the longest of all.
Lights flashed out ahead as they turned a corner; Billabong, every window shining with welcome. And at the gate was a smiling group, and every one seemed to want to shake hands with her at the same moment. But behind them was Mrs. Brown, her old face half laughter and half tears, and speech wholly beyond her. She held out shaking arms to the tall girl who had been her baby for so long, and Norah went to them, hugging her tightly—not very sure of speech herself. It was not every day that one came home to Billabong.