“Sit down, and tell me everything that happened,” she begged. “Every little detail.”
I did so, touching very lightly on the rough journey home—hoping that she would not ask me if her brother had sent her any message. Probably she knew that a gentleman of Ronald Hull’s type would have no thought for anyone but his precious self, for I had no awkward questions to dodge.
“It was all so simple and straightforward that there really is very little to tell,” I finished. “I asked Mr. Hull not to speak in the boat, so that there would be no risk of the children’s recognizing his voice: and I was so anxious to get back in case you needed me, that we didn’t lose a moment. It was just a pleasure-trip. You don’t mind that I took the children? Indeed, I meant to ask you, but you had gone to sleep before I could do it.”
“I don’t mind anything,” she said. “There is no room in my heart for anything but the utmost relief and gratitude; how could there be when my burden is rolled away?” And she clung to my hand, and said a great many things I couldn’t write down in cold blood—it made me feel an utter fool to listen to them. I only know I was very thankful when she stopped.
“Now, you are to go back to bed at once,” she said. “Do not worry about me any more: you shall see how quickly I can get better now.” And indeed, she looked almost like a girl, her cheeks flushed, and a light of happiness in her eyes. “Julia can do anything for me—she is very kind. I should be really glad if you would spend all day in bed.”
One does not do such things if one is a governess-head-companion with buffering thrown in as a side-line. But I did sleep like a log until the dressing-gong boomed, and Judy and Jack pounded on my door begging me to go down for a swim. It gave one a thrill to run across the paddock as we had run the night before: to see the launch rocking lazily by the pier. Bence was busy in her. Jack scampered over to speak to him, dived in from the pier-head, and swam round to meet us, with his face one broad grin of impish joy.
“Bence is as wild as a meat-axe!” he said cheerfully. “Says it’s no good cleaning out the launch every day when people ’liberately pour water into her at night! She really is awfully messy: that last big sea we shipped put gallons and gallons of water into her.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I said it was a jolly shame,” Jack chuckled. “ ’Tis, too—poor old Bencey! I say, Miss Earle, haven’t you got anyone for us to go out and rescue to-night?” He turned head-over-heels in the water, dived underneath Judy, and pulled her under by the leg. I left them arguing the matter out below the surface.
There was no holding my Fellow-Members of the Band that day. Their night adventure had left them wild with excitement; they rioted like mad things until I decided that exercise was the only possible treatment, packed up a billy and sandwiches, and took them out for a long day in the bush, leaving Mrs. McNab to the care of Julia, who liked nothing better than to have some one ill enough to be fussed over. Miles from home we came upon Dr. Firth, walking slowly through the scrub with his big Airedale at his heels. He looked gloomy enough before he saw us, but his face lit up when Judy and Jack hailed him joyfully.