Cecil flushed.

"Possibly I was--ah--hasty," he said. "I did not consider I asked Norah much of a favour."

"That's a matter of opinion. At any rate, Cecil, I may as well tell you straight out that I don't consider it would be at all wise for you to ride Bobs."

"I'm not likely to hurt him."

"He might very likely hurt you. He's not an easy pony to ride."

Cecil's little laugh was irritating.

"What?" he said. "I don't profess to be a jockey, but--a child's pony?"

Jim very nearly lost his temper.

"You won't be convinced," he said, "and I've no desire to convince you with Bobs. But take my advice and let Norah alone about her pony.

You've a very good mare to ride."

"That old crock!" said Cecil, scornfully.

Jim stared.

"Crock!" he said. "Well, you won't find many hacks to beat old Betty, even if in your mighty judgment she is a crock. And, anyhow, Bobs is Norah's, and no one else has any say about him. There's the bell; ready, chaps?"

The meal was scarcely lively. Cecil maintained an offended silence, and Jim was too angry to talk, while Norah was silent and a little pale.

However, Cecil retired to his room immediately he had finished; and the boys set themselves to the task of diverting Norah, fearful lest the evening's adventure should have any bad effect on her. They succeeded so well that by bedtime Norah had forgotten all her troubles, and was weak with laughter. When Wally set out "to blither," as he said, he did not do things by halves.

Jim came into Norah's room and switched on her light.

"Sure you're all right, kiddie?"

"Rather!" said Norah. "I've laughed too much to be anything else."

"Then go to sleep laughing," said Jim, practically. "I'm quite close if you want anything."

"Oh, I won't want anything, thanks," Norah answered. "Good-night, Jimmy."

"Good-night, little chap."

Norah tumbled hastily into bed and slept dreamlessly. She did not know that Jim dragged a sofa and some rugs along the corridor, and slept close to her door.

"Kid might dream and wake up scared," he said to Wally, a little apologetically, before mounting guard. It was Jim's way.

CHAPTER XVI

A CHILD'S PONY

With the spirit of fire and of dew To show the road home to them all.

KENDALL.

It was quite early next morning when Cecil awoke. One of his grievances against the country was the way in which the birds acted as alarum clocks every day, rousing him from his well-earned slumbers fully an hour before even the earliest milk cart rattling along the suburban street fulfilled a similar purpose at home. Generally, he managed to turn over and go to sleep again. This morning, however, he was unusually wakeful.

He lay turning in his mind his anger against his cousins. Little causes for annoyance, simple enough in themselves, had been brooded over until they made up a very substantial total; and now, last night's happenings capped everything. In his own heart of hearts he knew that he had small justification for his childish outbursts of anger; only it was not Cecil's nature to admit any such thing, and if justification were not evident, his mind was quite equal to manufacturing it. At the end of half an hour's gloomy pondering he had worked himself up into a fine state of ill usage, and into the firm belief that Norah and the boys had no intention but to insult and humiliate him.

To some natures there is a certain comfort in nursing a grievance, and reasoning themselves into a plaintive state of martyrdom. When Cecil finally rolled angrily out of bed, he was almost cheerful in the contemplation of his own unhappiness. They were determined to sneer at him and lessen his pride, were they? Well, they should see.

Just what they were likely to see, Cecil did not know himself, but the reflection was soothing. Meanwhile, the birds were maddeningly active, and an unusual restlessness was upon him. He dressed slowly, putting on flannels, for the day promised heat, and went downstairs.

Sarah and Mary were busy in the hall, and lifted astonished eyebrows at seeing the boy down before the others; as a rule Cecil strolled into the dining-room barely in time for breakfast, or was late altogether.

He took no notice of them, but wandered out to the back, where Brownie was found instructing a new kitchen a.s.sistant in the gentle art of cleaning a stove. She, too, showed amazement at the apparition, but recovered sufficiently to offer him tea and scones, to which Cecil did justice.

"Be you all going out early?" Brownie asked.

"Not that I know of." Cecil's tone did not encourage conversation.

"Seein' you so unusual early, I thought there was some plan on," said Brownie. "Master Jim's great on makin' plans, ain't he? (Meriar, elbow grease is one of the necessariest things in gettin' a shine on a stove--don't let me catch you merely strokin' it again!) An' Miss Norah's always ready to back him up--wunnerfull mates them two has alwuz been, an' Master Jim has ever and alwuz looked after her, from the d'rekly-minute he could walk!"

"Ah?" said Cecil.

"Well may you say so," said Brownie, inspired by her subject. "As loving-kind a pair as could be, have them two been; and as proud of each other--! Well, any one who reads may run! An', Master Jim never mindin' her being on'y a girl; not that that has 'ampered Miss Norah much, I will say, seein' how she rides an' all. I'm sure it's a picture to see her on that there Bobs, an' the dumb beast knows every single word she says to him. They'll fret for each other cruel, Bobs an' her, when she goes to school."

Brownie's enthusiasm was ill-timed, as far as Cecil was concerned; indeed, she could scarcely have hit upon a subject less palatable to him. Still, it was useless to interfere with the old woman; so he gulped down his tea hastily, listening with ill-concealed impatience to her talk of Norah and Bobs, and then escaped abruptly.

"H'm!" said Brownie, looking after him. "Not a word out of me n.o.ble--not even a thank you! Too much of a fine gentleman for Billabong, like his ma before him!"

"Young gent don't seem to cotton to Miss Norah," remarked the astute, if new, Maria, who had been listening with all her ears.

"When you're asked for your opinion about your betters, Meriar, it may be time to shove in your oar; but until then let me advise you to keep it in your own head," said Brownie severely. "At present your work is rubbin' that stove, and if it ain't done in remarkable quick time it'll have to be blackleaded all over again, bein' as how it'll have got too dry!" Appalled by which awful possibility, Maria fell to work with wonderful vigour, dismissing all lesser matters from her mind.

Meanwhile, Cecil strolled across the yard, and thence towards the stockyards, where a trampling of feet and a light cloud of dust showed that the men had got in the horses for the day. He selected a clean place on the top rail carefully, and cast his eye over the little mob standing in groups about the enclosure--a dozen stock horses; the big pair of greys that were used in the covered buggy or the express wagon; the brown ponies that Norah drove; his own mount Betty, and Wally's mare Nan; and then the aristocrats, Garryowen and, last of all, Bobs.

Norah's pony was standing near an old black horse for which he had a great affection. They were nearly always to be found together in the yards or paddocks. Even unbrushed as he was, the sunlight rippled on his bay coat when he moved, showing the hard ma.s.ses of muscle in his arched neck.

"Beauty, ain't he?" It was Mick Shanahan, on his way to another paddock to bring in some colts. He pulled up beside Cecil, the youngster he was riding sidling impatiently.

"Yes, he's a nice pony," said Cecil, without enthusiasm.

"Well, I've seen a few, but he beats 'em all," said the horsebreaker.

"A ringer from the time he was a foal--and he's only improved since I first handled him, four year ago. Worth a pot of money that pony is!"

He laughed. "Not as his particular owner'd sell him, I reckon. Miss Norah acts more by that chap than by anything else she's got!"

"I suppose so," Cecil said, seeing that he waited for a reply.

"Yes, my word! Take 'em all round, they'd be hard to beat as a pair,"

said Mick, lighting his pipe in apparent ignorance that his horse was indulging in caracoles that appeared likely to end in a bucking demonstration. He threw the match away after carefully extinguishing it, and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Quiet, y' image, can't y'? Who's hurtin' y'? Well, I must be goin'--so long." Cecil nodded casually, and the impatient pupil went off in a series of bounds that struck the city boy as alarming, although Mick did not appear to notice that his mount was not walking demurely.