Page 184 - A Little Bush Maid

"You don’t mean to say you did!" said the new "governess" amazed. Small
girls like this had not come his way. "By Jove, you’re plucky! T say, what’s

up?"

Norah was very pale.

"Are you really Mr. Stephenson?" she asked. "T . . . You’ll be surprised. . . .

He’s . . ." Her voice failed her.

"Don’t worry to talk," he said gently. "You’re done up."

"No--" She steadied her voice. "T must tell you. Tt’s--it’s--your father!"

Dick Stephenson’s face suddenly darkened.

"T beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "You’re making a mistake; my father is
dead."

"He’s not," said Norah, "He’s my dear Hermit, and he’s out there with

typhoid, or some beastly thing. We found him--and Dad knows him quite
well. Tt’s really him. He never got drowned."

"Do you know what you’re saying?" The man’s face was white.

But Norah’s self-command was at an end. She buried her face in Brownie’s
kind bosom, and burst into a passion of crying.

The old woman rocked her to and fro gently until the sobs grew fainter, and
Norah, shame-faced, began to feel for her handkerchief. Then Mrs. Brown

put her into the big cushioned rocking-chair.

"Now, you must be brave and tell us, dearie," she said gently. "This is

pretty wonderful for Mr. Stephenson."

So Norah, with many catchings of the breath, told them all about the
Hermit, and of her father’s recognition of him, saying only nothing of her