Mates at Billabong | Page 3

said Brownie. "As for that blessed child, she's not like the same 'uman bein' when you're off the place. Passed me jus' now in the passige, goin' full bat, an' turned 'ead over 'eels, she did--I didn't need to be told you'd got 'ome!" She hesitated: "You heard from Mrs. Stephenson, sir?"
"Yes," said Mr. Linton, glancing at the letter in his hand. "As I thought--she confirms our opinion. I'm afraid there's no help for it."
"I knew she would," said Mrs. Brown, heavily, a shadow falling onto her broad. pleasant face. "Oh, I know there's no 'elp, sir--it has to be. But--but--" She put her apron to her eyes.
"We're really very lucky, I suppose," Mr. Linton said, in tones distinctly unappreciative, at the moment, of any luck. "Mrs. Stephenson has been a second mother to Norah, these two years--between you and her I can't see that the child needed anything; and with Dick as tutor she has made remarkable progress. Personally, I'd have let the arrangement go on indefinitely. Now that they've had to leave us, however--" He paused, folding up the letter slowly.
"She couldn't stay 'ere, poor lady," Mrs. Brown said;" 'tain't in reason she'd be able to after the old gentleman's death, with the place full of memories an' all. An', of course, she'd want Mr. Dick along with her. Anyway, the precious lamb's getting a big girl to be taught only by a young gentleman--" and Brownie pursed up her lips, looking such a model of all the proprieties that Mr. Linton smiled involuntarily.
"She's all right," he said shortly. "Of course, her aunt has been at me for ever so long to send her to school."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, Mrs. Geoffrey don't know everythink," said Mrs. Brown, bridling. "Her not havin' any daughters of 'er own, 'ow can it be expected that she'd understand? An' town ladies can't never compre'end country children, any'ow. Our little maid's jus' grown up like a bush flower, an' all the better she is for it."
"But the time comes for change, Brownie, old friend," said Mr. Linton.
"Yes," said Mrs. Brown, "it do. But what the station'll do is more'n I can see just at present--an' as for you, sir--an' let alone me--" Her comfortable, fat voice died away, and the apron was at her eyes again. "What'll Billabong be, with its little girl at school?"
"At--WHERE?" asked Norah.
She had come in with the tea-tray in her hands--a little flushed from the fire, and her brown face alight with all the hundred-and-one things she had yet to tell Daddy. On the threshold she paused, struck motionless by that amazing speech. She looked a little helplessly from one face to the other; and the two who loved her felt the same helplessness as they looked back. It was not an easy thing to pass sentence of exile from Billabong on Norah.
"I--" said her father. "You see, dear--Dick having gone--you know, your aunt--" He stopped, his tongue tied by the look in Norah's eyes.
Brownie slipped into the breach.
"You're so big now, dearie," she said, "so, big--and--and--" With this lucid effort at enlightenment she put her apron fairly over her head and turned away to the open window.
But Norah's eyes were on her father. Just for a moment the sick sense of bewilderment and despair seemed to crush her altogether. She had realized her sentence in a flash--that the home that meant all the world to her, and from which Heaven only differed in that Mother was there, was to be changed for a new, strange world that would be empty of all that she knew and loved. Vaguely she had always known that the blow hung over her--now that it had fallen, for a moment there was no room for any other thought. Her look, wide with grief and appeal, met her father's.
And then she realized slowly that he was suffering too--that he was looking to her for the response that had never failed him yet. His silence told her that this thing was unavoidable, and that he needed her help. Mates such as they must stand by one another--that was part of the creed that had grown up in Norah's heart. Daddy had always said that no matter what happened he could rely upon her. She could not fail him now.
So, just as the silence in the room became oppressive, Norah smiled into her father's eyes, and carefully put the tea-tray upon the table.
"If you say it's got to be, well, that's all about it, Daddy," she said. The voice was low, but it did not quiver. "Don't worry, darling; it's all right. Sarah was out, and Mary goodness knows where, so I made tea myself; I hope it's drinkable." She brought her father's cup to his side and smiled at him again.
"My blessed lamb!" said