"The tonic she wants is her own old life," Brownie had said. "Stickin'

inside the house all day! it's no wonder she's peakin' and pinin'. Make her go out, sir." So David Linton had a.s.serted himself from his couch; and Jim had taken Norah for a ride over the paddocks, and to call for the mail at the Cross Roads, where the Billabong loose bag was left by the coach three times a week.

He was lying with his eyes fixed on the track when they came out of the trees; both horses at a hand gallop and pulling double. Norah was on Garryowen, her face flushed and laughing, her head thrown back a little as the beautiful bay reefed and plunged forward, enjoying the speed as much as his rider. Jim was a length or so behind on Monarch, whose one ambition at that moment was, in Murty's words, "to get away on him." It was plain that the boy was exulting in the tussle. The sunlight gleamed on the black horse's splendid side as they dashed up the track.

As yet there had been no talk openly of a successor to Bobs--that wound was still too sore. For the present Norah was to ride Garryowen, since Monarch was far too frivolous to stand a long spell; Jim would handle him for the months that must elapse before his father was in the saddle again. Later on, Jim and Mr. Linton had great plans for something very special--a new pony that would not disgrace Bobs' memory, and that would fit the unused rug with the scarlet B that lay locked away in Norah's wardrobe. Other things were locked away in her heart; she never spoke of Bobs. But the two who were her mates knew.

The swift hoofs came thudding up the track and scattered the gravel by the gate; then there was silence for a moment, voices and laughter, and quick footsteps, and Jim and Norah came in together, their faces glowing.

"How did you get on, Dad? Were we long?"

"Long!" said David Linton, whose face had grown suddenly contented.

"The conceit of some people! Why, I had so much attention paid me that I scarcely noticed you had gone." He put up one hand and took Norah's as she sat on the arm of his couch. "But I'm glad you're back," he added. They smiled at each other.

"Conceit's bad enough," said Jim, grinning, "but insanity's worse. Had the maddest ride of my life, Dad--my poor old Garryowen's absolutely cowed, and has no tail left to speak of!" He ducked to avoid a cushion from his sister. "It's a most disastrous experiment to keep Norah off a horse for five weeks!"

"We won't repeat it," said her father, "not that Garryowen seemed to be suffering from nervous prostration as he came up the paddock--or Monarch either! Any letters?"

"One from Wally," Norah cried, "poor old boy. He says school is horrid without Jim, and he's collar-proud, and they lost the match last Sat.u.r.day--he carried out his bat for thirty-seven, though!--and he misses Billabong, and he sends his love and all sorts of messages to you, Dad.

I guess Brownie and I will fix up a hamper for him," concluded Norah, pensively, weighing in her mind the attractions of plum or seed cake, and deciding on both. "And mice pies," she added, aloud.

"What?" said her father, staring. "Oh, I see. Any other mail?"

"Oh, the usual pile for you, Dad. Agents' letters and bills and things.

Jim has them. We didn't bring the papers."

"I should think not!" returned her father. "If I catch either of you carrying loose papers on those horses--well, one broken leg is enough in a family of this size!"

"Too much respect for Monarch, to say nothing of my legs," said Jim, laconically, producing a handful of letters. "There you are, Dad; that's all. Do you want anything? I'm going down to the little paddock for a lesson in bullock driving from Burton."

"How are you getting on in the art?" asked his father, smiling.

"Oh, slowly. My command of language doesn't seem to be sufficient, for so far the team looks on me with mild scorn." Jim grinned. "It's nervous work for Joe, too. I got him with the tail of the whip yesterday, when I'd every intention of correcting old Ranger! However, I plod on, and Joe keeps well out of the way now. He yells instructions at me from some way back in the landscape!"

"Prudent man, Burton," laughed his father. "A good tutor, too. I don't know that I ever saw a man handle bullocks better. Most people don't credit bullocks with souls, but I think Joe gets nearer to finding that attribute in his beasts than the average driver, and with less expenditure of energy and eloquence! He's like the man we were reading about, North:

"As to a team, over gully and hill, He can travel with twelve on the breadth of a quill!"

"Oh, COULD he?" asked Jim, with much interest. "Well, the width of the paddock doesn't seem more than enough for me, so far. We wobble magnificently, the team and I! However, I keep hoping! I'd better be going. Sure you don't want me, Dad?"

"Not just now, old chap."

"Well, I'll be back before long." He smiled at his father and Norah, swinging out over the window ledge, and whistling cheerily until his long legs had carried him out of sight.

"He'll be a good man on the place, Norah."

"Why, of course," said Norah, a little surprised that statement should be made of so evident a fact. "Murty says he's 'takin' howld wid' both hands, an' 'tis the ould man over agin,' though it's like Murty's cheek to call you that. You won't be able to let him go away, I believe, Dad."

"I don't see myself sparing him to any other place now," said Mr.

Linton. "Nor the head nurse either!"

Norah slipped down beside him.

"I've been thinking," she said, a little anxiously. "It's been so lovely to think of no old school until midwinter--but I'd go sooner--when you're quite well--if you're worried really, Dad. I don't want to be a duffer--and of course I don't know half that other girls know."

"Jim will be able to keep you from going back, I expect," her father said, watching the troubled face. "He won't be exactly a stern tutor, and possibly lessons may be free and easy; still, after all, Jim was a prefect, and the handling of unruly subjects is probably not unknown to him."

"If Jim attempts to be a prefect with me," said Norah, "things will be mixed!" She laughed, but the line came back into her forehead. "It's not the lessons I was thinking of, Dad."

"Then what is it?"

"Oh, all the other things I don't know that other girls do. Do you think it really matters, Dad? I know perfectly well I don't do my hair properly--"

"I seem to like it."

"And I can't talk prettily--you know, like Cecil did; and I don't know a single blessed thing about fancywork! I'd--I'd hate you to be ashamed of me, Dad, dear!"

"Ashamed?" He held her close; and when he spoke again there was something in his voice that made Norah suddenly content.

"Little mate!" was all he said.