“Yes, please, Miss Robin. I like the yard.”
“All right. There’s a big piece of cake for you, and two biscuits—don’t let that funny boy get them!” Polly laughed delightedly, and scuttled into the kitchen; and Robin went off with her mother’s tray.
“We’re going for a swim, and we want to try to get some rabbits afterwards, Mother,” she said. “Does it matter if we’re late for tea? I’ll get it when we come in.”
“It doesn’t matter at all,” said Mrs. Hurst. “I don’t think anyone will be in a hurry for tea on such an evening. But don’t knock yourself up, dear.”
“Oh, no. Anyhow, we won’t be really late, because there is so much smoke about that we shan’t be able to shoot once the sun goes down. So I need not milk and feed until we come in. You won’t do it yourself, you bad old mother?—promise! Barry will help me.”
“Very well, I won’t,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Is Polly all right?”
“Yes—I’ll tell her not to go out of the yard. Well, I must go and get my tea, or Barry will have eaten all the cake.” She blew a merry kiss to her mother, and disappeared.
They set off presently across the paddock, Polly straining wistful eyes after their retreating figures.
“Whew-w, it’s hot!” whistled Barry. “Queer, wicked sort of heat—makes a chap feel all anyhow. This is the first day I’ve wanted to be back in Melbourne. Not that I want Melbourne: I don’t—but I want the sea.”
“Then I don’t see why you want the old Melbourne sea—that’s only the Bay.” Robin made disdainful answer. “It’s all used-up water. I’d rather have the Ninety-Mile Beach; great tumbling breakers as far as ever you can see each way, and a big lovely stretch of sand.”