" He left the room, carrying the books and the cup with
him.
At the door he paused.
"Don't forget Cecil," he said quietly, and was gone.
The trio looked blank.
"Cecil!" said Wally.
"Hang Cecil!" from Jim disgustedly.
"Oh, he's such a bore!" Norah said. "And he'd simply hate to be in
here--he wouldn't see any fun in it. I--I really think I've had an
overdose of Cecil."
"Poor old kid!" said Jim. "Well, we'll hurry up unpacking and then find
him." They dismissed the "bit of a drawback" airily from their minds,
and proceeded with the business in hand, hampered slightly by much
energetic conversation. Jim's boxes were full of interesting things,
the result of his six years at school; his packing, he said, with
pained recollection, had been a "corker."
"Lucky I had that extra chest of drawers put in here," remarked Norah,
stowing away numerous small articles. "Jim, how many boys gave you
knives as farewell gifts?"
"Sorra a one of me knows," said her brother. "I lost count--and lost
some of the knives, too. I've an idea Bill Beresford picked up one I
dropped--the one Lance Western gave me; it's got a tortoise-shell
handle, and a nick out of the big blade--and gave it to me for himself."
"It sounds the sort of economical thing Bill would do," Wally remarked.
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