Then a somewhat heated and floury damsel donned a neat divided riding
skirt of dark-blue drill, with a white-linen coat, and the collar and
tie which Norah regarded as the only reasonable neck gear, and joined
her father in the office.
"Ready? That's right," said he, casting an approving glance at the trim
figure. "I've just finished writing, and the horses are in."
"So's lunch," Norah responded. "It's a perfectly beautiful day for a
ride, Daddy--hurry up!"
The day merited Norah's epithet, as they rode over the paddocks in the
afternoon. As yet the grass had not dried up, thanks to the late rains,
and everywhere a green sea rippled to the fences. Soon it would be dull
and yellow; but this day there was nothing to mar the perfection of the
carpet that gave softly under the horses' hoofs. The dogs raced wildly
before them, chasing swallows and ground-larks in the cheerfully
idiotic manner of dogs, with always a wary ear for Mr. Linton's
whistle: but as yet they were not on duty, and were allowed to run
riot.
An old log fence stretched before them. It was the only one on
Billabong, where all station details were strictly up-to-date. This one
had been left, partly because it was picturesque, and partly at the
request of Jim and Norah, because it gave such splendid opportunities
for jumping.
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