Page 6 - An Australian Lassie

Floss Jones, who was four, was the baby.

The neighbourhood frequently moaned that there was no private school for those of riper years--fifteen and
sixteen or so; but in some cases it called in a governess, in others it forewent its dignity and adopted the public
school, and in others again it sent its young folk over the water to Sydney-- a matter of three miles or more.

But the North Shore Highlands was at this time uncatered for by the tramway authorities. An old coach ran
twice daily from Willoughby to the steamer-- a morning trip and an evening-tide one--there and back. Tt was
largely patronized by the Chinese, and parents of the artisan class hesitated and frequently refused to allow
their young folk to make the journey.

The three young Bruces went every day across a beaten bush track, from their weather-board cottage home,
past the big iron gates of Dene Hall, a house built of grey stone in the early days of the colony, where their
irascible grandsire dwelt, up a red dusty road to the little school-house on the hill.

And special terms were arranged for them because they were three--Cyril, and Elizabeth the twins, and
six-year-old Nancy.

They had always been three. For even in the days when Cyril and Elizabeth had belonged to the baby class
there had been Dorothea, Dorothea who was sixteen and quite old now, who was a weekly boarder in a
fashionable Sydney school (for a ridiculously small quarterly fee).

And when Dorothea had left Wygate School little Nancy's hand had been put into Elizabeth's and she too had
taken the long red road to school. And after Nancy there was still a wee toddler who, it was said, would make
the number up to three again when Cyril went to a "real" boy's school.