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Norah, who had choked with laughter at first, but had become sympathetic as soon as she saw the boy's face, extracted numerous thorns from his person and clothing, and murmured words of regret, which fell on unheeding ears. Finally his uncle lost patience. "That'll do Cecil," he said. "Everyone comes to grief occasionally take your gruel like a man. Come on, Norah. Murty's waiting."
"Much hope!" returned her brother. "Anyway, Murty's not over good in the field; he's too much in the saddle to be a quick man on his feet. I wouldn't mind you as substitute, Nor." which remark, though futile, pleased Norah exceedingly. She was rather more hopeful when the Cunjee team at length took the field, with Boone and the blacksmith bowling against Billings and another noted Mulgoa warrior.
She had hung round Murty's neck imploring him to go with her, but Murty was drilling for the rising of the following year, and could see no duty closer than his duty to his country. He promised to follow her and bring her back if there were happier days in Ireland, but the boat and its freight were never heard of after they left Queenstown quay in that September of blight and storm.
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.
They had but one dog, which, being young and "whip shy," had vanished into the distant landscape at the sound of Murty's stockwhip, leaving them but their own energies to persuade the calves; and when a poddy calf becomes obstinate there are few animals less easy to persuade. Each was possessed of a very respectable turn of speed and a rooted determination to remain in the paddock.
"It is laughin' ye'd be, wid these loonattic images gittin' away on us !" Further eloquence on Murty's part was checked by a determined rush on the part of a red and white calf, which would certainly have ended in freedom but for a well-aimed clod, which, hurled by the Irishman, took the poddy squarely between the eyes and induced him to pull up and meditate.
"Well, Hogg's got enough an' to spare," was Murty's comment. "No union touch about his work. I reckon he's put in sixteen hours a day at that garden since we heard they were comin'." "But there never was any union touch about Billabong," said Mrs. Brown. "Not much! We all know when we're well off," said Murty. "I'll bet no union was ever as good a boss as David Linton."
Murty's exaggerated expectations had suffered a grievous eclipse; still, if he became an expert hewer, he might look forward to earning more than a curate's salary by his axe. And they were well fed: he had more meat in a week now than in a twelvemonth in Ireland.
"Billabong has a horse running to-day did you know?" Jim inquired. "No!" Tommy looked up, dimpling with interest. "But how exciting, Jim. Is it yours?" "No." Jim shook his head. "I won't enter a horse if I can't ride him myself, and of course I'm too heavy. He belongs to the station, but he's always looked upon as Murty's, and black Billy's going to ride him. He's in the Hurdle Race."
"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.
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