"I'll come in and say good-night
to you, Norah." A look passed between them; the boy knew his father
never failed to pay a good-night visit to Norah's room. She smiled at
him gratefully.
It was very lonely and quiet up there, undressing, with her heart like
lead within her. She hurried over her preparations, so that she might
not keep Jim waiting when he came; she knew he needed sleep--"a big boy
outgrowing his strength like that," thought Norah, with the quaint
little touch of motherliness that she always felt towards Jim. Once she
caught sight of something on the end of the couch; the white rug that
had been Jim's Christmas present, with the scarlet B standing out
sharply in the corner--the rug Bobs would never use. Shivering a little,
she put it away in her wardrobe. Just now she could only think of that
most dear one--perhaps lying out there in the cold shadows of the bush
night. She crept into bed.
Jim came in in his shirt sleeves.
"Comfy, little chap?"
"Yes, thanks, old man. Jim--shall I ride Sirdar tomorrow?"
"You needn't have asked," the boy said--"he's yours. And, Norah--I know
Dad wouldn't mind. I'd like you to have Garryowen. He's a bit big, but
he'll suit you quite well. I know he won't make up, but you'd get fond
of him in time, dear.
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