"The conceit of some people! Why, I had so much attention paid me that
I scarcely noticed you had gone." He put up one hand and took Norah's
as she sat on the arm of his couch. "But I'm glad you're back," he
added. They smiled at each other.
"Conceit's bad enough," said Jim, grinning, "but insanity's worse. Had
the maddest ride of my life, Dad--my poor old Garryowen's absolutely
cowed, and has no tail left to speak of!" He ducked to avoid a cushion
from his sister. "It's a most disastrous experiment to keep Norah off a
horse for five weeks!"
"We won't repeat it," said her father, "not that Garryowen seemed to be
suffering from nervous prostration as he came up the paddock--or Monarch
either! Any letters?"
"One from Wally," Norah cried, "poor old boy. He says school is horrid
without Jim, and he's collar-proud, and they lost the match last
Saturday--he carried out his bat for thirty-seven, though!--and he misses
Billabong, and he sends his love and all sorts of messages to you, Dad.
I guess Brownie and I will fix up a hamper for him," concluded Norah,
pensively, weighing in her mind the attractions of plum or seed cake,
and deciding on both. "And mice pies," she added, aloud.
"What?" said her father, staring. "Oh, I see. Any other mail?"
"Oh, the usual pile for you, Dad.
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