“Good old Billikens!” said Jo, turning to give him a sisterly pat. “Is it hard?”
“Men don’t find those things hard,” said Billy loftily. “You girls will have to be up to give us early tea before we start!”
“It shall be done,” said Jo meekly. “Any other orders?”
“I’ll let you know if there’s anything else,” replied Billy, preserving an unruffled masculine dignity. “Dad’s going to start teaching me all about the stock soon. He says I can be useful to him in no end of ways.”
“Yes—but lessons have got to come first, old son,” remarked his father.
“Oh, lessons! They won’t take long,” remarked Billy airily. Plainly it could be seen that he regarded the prospect of education under his sisters as a huge joke.
“You little know,” said Jean darkly. “We mean to turn you out a beautiful specimen of Higher Education before we’ve done with you. Manners and Deportment will be taught—sternly taught, young Billy!—and also Respect for Teachers——”
“Oh, will you?” responded Billy. He tipped his prospective instructor’s hat over her eyes, and scrambled off across the luggage to avoid reprisals. They were just turning in towards the big gate that opened into the homestead paddock. Billy swung himself to the ground before the buggy had stopped, and, racing ahead of the greys, flung open the gate with a flourish. Looking at him, his hat pushed back on his curly head, his brown face glowing, and his eyes alight with laughter and mischief, it was difficult to imagine him as either a station-hand in the making or a docile pupil—especially in Deportment.
“You’ll have your hands full with him, I’m afraid,” remarked Mr. Weston.
“Oh, Billy will be all right,” said Jo confidently. Something in the certainty of her voice gave comfort to the harassed man at her side.