The riders trotted into the stable yard, tired, but cheerful.
“Coming home was the best part of the day,” said Norah, happily, slipping off and beginning to unbuckle Bosun’s breastplate, leaving Garryowen to Jim. Garryowen had carried her like a bird; but Norah had a fancy for letting her own property go.
“I think you can put Bosun in the stable to-night,” her father said; “Monarch and Garryowen, too; they deserve a bit of hard feed.”
“And don’t Nan and Warder?” protested Jean.
“Yes—but they aren’t used to it,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “These three are pampered babies, and the others are matter-of-fact old stagers.”
“Nan’s a dear!” said Jean, indignantly. She caressed the brown mare’s long nose.
“I’ll slip over after tea and feed them,” Jim said. “They’re a bit hot now.”
“Very well,” his father answered, leading Monarch into the dark recesses of the stable and returning for Bosun. “Better leave the others in the yard, too, until you come over; then you can give them some chaff, just to set Jean’s mind at rest.” He pulled that lady’s hair gently. “Make haste, we’ve kept poor Brownie unconscionably late.”
Brownie showed no signs of having been delayed. She met them smilingly, and called Wally “poor dear!” when he simulated extreme fatigue. Tea was a mighty meal, and before it was over Norah and Jean felt their eyelids drooping. It was still very hot in the house. Outside, a wind began to blow fitfully from the west.
“Go to bed, both of you!” ordered Mr. Linton, as they rose from the table and went out through the long windows upon the verandah. “You’re both knocked up. What’s that light moving?”