Page 168 - A Little Bush Maid

"T’d much prefer to go to sleep again--but T’ll tumble out, thank you," said
his daughter, suiting the action to the word. "Had your bath, Daddy?’

"Just going to it."

"Then T’ll race you!" said Norah, snatching a towel and disappearing down
the hall, a slender, flying figure in blue pyjamas. Mr. Linton gave chase,

but Norah’s start was too good, and the click of the lock greeted him as he
arrived at the door of the bathroom. The noise of the shower drowned his

laughing threats, while a small voice sang, amid splashes, "You should
have been here last week!"

Breakfast was a merry meal, although, as Norah said, it was unreasonable
to expect anybody to have an appetite at that hour. Still, with a view to the

future, and to avoid wounding Mrs. Brown too deeply, they made as firm
an attempt as possible, with surprisingly good results. Then brief good-byes
were said, the pack scientifically adjusted to the saddle on the old mare, and

they rode off in the cool, dewy morning.

This time there was no "racing and chasing o’er Cannobie Lea" on the way
to Anglers’ Bend. Mr. Linton’s days of scurrying were over, he said, unless
a bullock happened to have a difference of opinion as to the way he should

go, and, as racing by one’s self is a poor thing Norah was content to ride
along steadily by her father’s side, with only an occasional canter, when

Bobs pulled and reefed as if he were as anxious to gallop as his young
mistress could possibly be. Tt was time for lunch when they at length
arrived at the well-remembered bend on the creek.

The horses were unsaddled and hobbled, and then turned out to wander at

their own sweet will--the shortness of the hobbles a guarantee that they
would not stray very far; and the three wanderers sat on the bank of the
creek, very ready for the luncheon Mrs. Brown had carefully prepared and

placed near the top of the pack. This despatched, preparations were made
for pitching camp.