Читать книгу Wings above Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 6

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I SHOULD like to know,” said Freddy Paxton, “to what extent this mine of yours is a secret, Norah.”

Lunch was over, and they were sitting on the wide verandah: Freddy and Jack stretched at length in deck-chairs, and Tommy curled up on a ’possum rug on the floor. Norah was knitting, but the knitting did not progress very quickly, so often did her eyes stray to where, on the buffalo-grass carpet of the lawn, her son Davie rolled contentedly with Bill and a big dog as playfellows.

“That is something we should rather like to know ourselves,” she answered. “There is no secret where all the station people are concerned, of course. But they are as interested as we are in not letting it go any further.”

“It was Bob Rainham’s find originally?”

“Yes. He got the first specimens when he and the boys were out after cattle in the hill country. Then they were very cautious—they didn’t even tell Tommy and me, for fear of raising false hopes. You see, Bob has had a pretty hard time lately: so hard that he was faced with a mortgage on his farm. That was because he and Tommy were proud and unfriendly and wouldn’t let us know anything about it!”

She smiled down at Tommy, who was quite unmoved by the accusation.

“Knowin’ something of Bob—and Tommy,” said Freddy, “I can imagine that was the stiff necked sort of thing they would do.”

“Yes. It annoyed Jim so that he is going to marry Tommy. I think he means to break her spirit!”

“Now that’s interestin’,” Freddy said. “The way yours is broken since you married Wally?”

“If you go on interrupting me, Freddy, how do you expect me to tell you about mines?” demanded Norah, severely.

“Go on—I withdraw everything,” said he generously.

“Well—they told Dad, and had another inspection of the place; and it seemed so promising that they took Murty out to investigate thoroughly, because Murty was a miner once, in his wild youth, and he knows more about it than anyone else. And he had no doubt that they had struck something worth having, though they couldn’t make sure until they sank a shaft.”

“Oh!” said Freddy mournfully. “I pictured the stuff lyin’ round in chunks.”

“Well, there were small chunks. But Murty stuck to it that the real gold was underground. That meant a lot of work, of course—blasting rocks away and doing very hard sinking. So all the men had to be brought into it. We all took out miners’ rights and pegged out claims under Murty’s directions, but the work itself was concentrated on Bob’s claim. We call it The Hope.”

“And The Hope turned out trumps?”

“Very much trumps. More than we dared to hope. They sank the shaft until it bottomed on rock, and that’s where the really good results began. It was terribly exciting when they got to the bottom. That was where Murty hoped to find the heaviest gold; if his idea was right it should be just above the rock. Well—he was right.”

“Do you mean ... big nuggets?”

“Oh, no; nothing spectacular, though plenty of small nuggets have been found. But all the soil is rich gold-bearing stuff. It has to be all washed out, and that means work for a long while. Then the other claims have to be tested—they are sinking a shaft on another claim now.”

“What men have you?”

“Our own men and several others: prospectors who had been in the hills for a long while. The boys let them into it on condition that they should work for wages and a percentage on our claims first. They have pegged out claims for themselves, but they won’t sink on them yet—until our claims have been proved. All these men have been making only the barest living: they jumped at coming in on the boys’ terms.”

“I see,” pondered Freddy. “But you can’t expect to keep it a secret for long, can you?”

“Not if it is a really big thing. That’s what has to be proved. There is always the chance that the first claims may be only a pocket. They are along a shallow gully where a stream must have flowed ages ago, and the gold may have been all water-borne, so that there may be none in the ground outside the gully.”

“If that’s so, it’s certainly a matter of ‘first come, first served,’ isn’t it.”

“Yes, and it may be limited to Bob’s claim, because it’s a curious spot, all shut in by rocks which may have trapped whatever gold there was. That is why we are so anxious to keep it a secret for the present. We ought to be able to do so, because the place is so lonely. The mouth is cut off by rocky hills, except for a very difficult track made by the prospectors: then the hilly country comes down to the river that flows between it and the main part of Billabong. It is all densely timbered and very rough: until Jim and Wally took it up as an out-station for young cattle no one ever went there except a few fossickers. And they were thought to be mad!”

She put down her knitting, looking earnestly at him.

“You see, Freddy, if the news got about there would be a rush. People would pour into the hills—many of them men of the worst type. The timber would be felled, the ground cut to pieces and made useless for cattle or anything else; and it might be all for nothing: just heart-break for a great number of men. We don’t want to keep the gold all for ourselves, supposing it is there. We only want to make sure first. Then, if it is really more than a pocket, the rush must come; but we shall have established a little colony of decent, steady men in the middle of it, and they will help the authorities to keep order.”

“I suppose your father would report it quietly to Melbourne and have mounted police sent out and generally check any wild goings-on.”

“Yes. He says that the first thing to do would be to improve the northern track and set up a general store there. People wouldn’t realize it, but they would simply starve in those hills—that has almost happened to some of the old prospectors. They lived by carrying in bare necessaries like tea and flour from Broad’s Creek, ten miles north, and then trusting to shooting an odd kangaroo or wallaby; and there are blackfish in the creeks. A large number of men couldn’t do that.”

“And, as you say, that would be the last thing that scallywags from Melbourne or Sydney would realize.” Freddy knitted his brows. “It looks like being a job of work, Norah.”

“A very big job—if it comes off. Not the sort of job we ever hankered after, for Billabong. But Dad and the boys are determined that if Billabong turns into a gigantic mining camp it’s going to do it decently.”

“But, Norah—it could never spread to your own Billabong. It would only be in the hill country.”

“We hope so. Dad doesn’t think gold would ever be found on this side of the river; it’s the wrong kind of soil. But we might have hopeful people looking for it. However—we don’t mean to meet that particular trouble half-way.”

“I must say,” remarked Freddy, regarding her critically, “that for people who may be on the edge of makin’ a big pile you seem—well, un-excited!”

“Don’t you believe it!” Norah laughed. “We’ve been living on thrills for weeks. Only thrills subside after a while.”

“If you had seen everyone on the day when The Hope produced its trumps you would not have thought them calm, Freddy,” said Tommy, twinkling. “Such a celebration! I believe Mr. Linton danced with old Lee Wing!”

“Now, that must have been a sight worth seein’,” chuckled Freddy. “Has Lee Wing deserted his cabbage-growing to indulge the Chinese passion for gold-digging?”

“Not he—he doesn’t seem to have any more use for gold than Murty has. But he’s quite invaluable as Camp Cook. We have put in an unworthy substitute to grow vegetables. The place doesn’t seem the same without Lee Wing,” said Norah. “He has ruled our kitchen-garden since before I was born, and I miss him badly.”

“Norah, what are you doing with the gold you’ve got already?” Freddy asked. “Are the boys using sacks of it for pillows?”

“Well—the work has so far been more sinking than gold-mining,” she said. “When the regular washing-out of the great mullock-heaps begins we hope to have more to deal with. One nice little bundle, after coming here in instalments, was put into a grubby old bag and Bob and Wally, in old clothes, drove to Bendigo and sold it to a bank.”

“Were questions asked?”

“The boys were vague on that point. I’m quite sure their answers were vague. Anyhow, it was sold, and Bob immediately began to study motor catalogues for a new car for Tommy. Only he hadn’t time to buy it: the mine swallowed him again.”

She began to laugh.

“This family isn’t really fit to have gold. We can’t take it seriously enough. The boys leave little parcels of it about in all sorts of places, and if the parcels get mislaid it doesn’t worry them—nothing like the hullabaloo that stirs the house over a missing pipe!”

“Whew!” whistled Jack Young. “I wonder if I could ever feel like that!”

Norah considered him.

“Yes, I think so. Unless you really wanted it badly to buy something.”

“A new plane, for instance?” he said eagerly.

“Yes. You would be very keen to get enough to buy it, and you’d weigh your little bit of gold every day, as Bob did until he knew there was enough to save his farm. After you had the new plane you wouldn’t feel so keen. The gold would just be stuff you dig up—like potatoes!”

“I’ll try to believe it!” he said, looking as though belief could not develop. “I suppose the fun is in getting it—not just having it.”

“Just that,” Norah said. “There’s only a real thrill at first. After that, if you think too much about the actual gold it seems to become ... well ... a bit grubby.”

That was altogether foreign to Jack’s previous ideas, yet suddenly he felt that it was true. He felt dimly that Norah seemed able to make unlikely things sound true, because she herself so completely believed them. He liked to listen to her: her voice was deep for a girl, and very gentle—but when anything moved her there came into it a sudden ring that made you want to hear it again. She had shown that she could be serious enough, yet laughter was never very far from her; he remembered how they had laughed throughout lunch at all sorts of ridiculous things.

His thoughts went back to their first meeting, at the races in Melbourne, when she and Jim and Wally had so clearly been bent on having a good time, and had carried him and Freddy along with them. Races—theatres—gay dinners followed by gayer dances. What a week it had been! And now these merry people were up against a job of work, and were taking it seriously even while they joked about it. Jack was aware of being very glad that he was to share the job.

Freddy was speaking.

“Well, I promised young Bill a flip. How about it, Norah? Any other passengers?”

“I say, Mrs. Meadows, will you come up in my Planet?” Jack asked eagerly. “She isn’t as big as Freddy’s bus, but she’s quite comfortable.”

“I’d love it,” Norah said, smiling at him. “Tommy and I were hoping we should be asked. We have been aching to fly, ever since Freddy’s last visit.”

“Then you’ll come with me and Bill, Tommy?” Freddy said. “Good. What will become of Davie, Norah?”

“I’ll take him to Brownie.” She raised her voice. “Bill!”

It was a signal Bill had been hungrily awaiting. He knew that the grown-ups had had to discuss business, and that his part had been to keep Davie away, since the presence of a gentleman not yet two, who was, moreover, apparently made of quicksilver, was apt to interfere with any discussion. Bill thought, however, that they had had time enough to talk over all the affairs of the world.

He gathered himself up from the grass with a bound and shot over to the verandah.

“Are we going?” He fixed his eyes on Freddy.

“All hands aloft,” responded Freddy. “Look at your man there—he’s annoyed.”

Davie was coming over the lawn, hauling at the dog’s collar—torn between a desire to catch Bill and a determination not to leave Kim behind. His black curls were full of bits of buffalo-grass, his cheeks scarlet with wrath. Rapidly he uttered a great many things, none of them clear, except to himself.

“Come along, Kim!” Bill gave a low whistle.

All dogs were friends with Bill. Kim quickened his pace immediately, with the result that Davie, still holding fast, was carried along briskly, which was just what he wanted. Wrath turned into delighted chuckles. Norah moved to the edge of the verandah, sitting down. She held out her arms, into which Kim safely delivered his charge.

“Horse!” said Davie. “Wide a horse!”

“Not now, old man,” said Norah. “Brownie now.”

Davie was a being of fixed purposes, but he had learned that his mother was equally determined; that when she said “Not now,” in a certain tone it was wise to accept a substitute. Luckily the one she offered was acceptable. He said “Bwown!” joyfully—knowing well that in Brownie’s kitchen mysterious delights always awaited him. Last time he had made scones. He did not know many things more entertaining: soft white lumps that went into queer holes and shapes when you punched them, covering your fingers with a substance wholly delightful that could be lingeringly licked off. “Bwown!” said Davie, and tugged at his mother’s hand.

Norah picked him up and carried him to the kitchen, where Brownie received him with enthusiasm. There was less enthusiasm in her reception of the news that they were about to fly.

“I dunno if you ought, with the Master and Mr. Wally away. All of you, too!” said Brownie. “I’d like to feel that at least some of you were on the ground.” She looked anxiously at the tall girl she had nursed as a baby. “I know Mr. Freddy’s careful—but I’d say that other young feller could be a bit harum-scarum.”

“Don’t you worry, Brownie—why, Mr. Young’s mother flies with him to Brisbane, hundreds of miles,” Norah told her. “And we’re going to be extra careful, because it’s Bill’s first trip.”

“Well, I won’t come out to see you start, or it ’ud only upset me,” declared Brownie. “You an’ me’ll make scones, Davie, darling.”

“And we’ll be back to eat them,” laughed Norah.

Tommy was waiting for her, holding her coat and cap. They hurried to what Bill firmly called the aerodrome, where Freddy and Jack were busy with sundry adjustments, while Bill, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, stared fixedly at the Kestrel. His lips were pressed tightly together.

He was not happy. This was the moment for which he had longed ever since he knew that Freddy was to fly to Billabong. He had felt that he simply did not know how to wait for it to come. To fly—well, every boy wanted that. But to fly in a machine that was staying with you, with a pilot you actually knew! Not many boys had such luck.

And now, to his utter disgust, he was suddenly afraid. Just as the beautiful dream was coming true, when in five minutes he would be shooting across the sky, he had become all different. His legs did not seem to belong to him: his heart was beating in a queer, jerky fashion: his hands felt wet and prickly. He did not know how he was going to walk to the plane; to think of climbing into it made him feel sick.

He cast a despairing glance at Norah. She had not looked his way: all her attention was given to the things the airmen were doing. Then he heard Tommy’s voice beside him. Once before in sharp need he had been glad of Tommy’s voice—for a moment he remembered that time.

“Queer things, are they not, Bill?” Tommy did not speak like most people; she had been brought up in France, and her English was just a little different. Bill liked it—in Tommy; it caught his attention now.

“There is a question I have always wanted to ask Norah, only I am ashamed,” she said. “I often wonder if she knew how terribly frightened I was on the first time Freddy took us up.”

Bill did not answer, because he couldn’t. Tommy did not seem to notice.

“It is so shaming to be afraid, when one is grown-up,” she said. “If I had been little of course it would have been quite natural. And I did not dream that I was going to be frightened: I had been looking forward to going up, just as you are now, all excited and happy. But suddenly, at the last moment I began to quake and shiver inside me. Oh, Bill, I never told anyone, but I would have loved to run away!”

There was a queer sound from Bill which might have meant anything.

“It was most lucky that suddenly I remembered something Bob had told me. He said that ever so many people were like that just before they went up for the first time. People who became first-class pilots after. Bob was afraid himself. That cheered me, because—well, you know what Bob is. And he said that it doesn’t last a moment, once the plane moves. I found that, Bill. It goes away immediately.”

“True?” said a small voice.

“Quite true. Immediately, Bill. I clung hard to that thought. I said over and over to myself—‘This goes away—it goes away!’ I found myself saying it in French—‘Ça passe, ça passe, ça passe!’ And then I was in the plane, and she began to move, and all of a sudden I could say ‘It’s gone!’ ”

“Quite gone?”

“Every bit. I was just loving it. And when you are up, of course you have no sensation of height, any more than you have in a car. You feel that you have found a new world—that you own it. Oh, it is even better than you could ever have dreamed, Bill!”

The planes had become alive. Both propellers were spinning: the engines began to roar. Freddy, unfamiliar in his helmet and goggles was in the Kestrel, beckoning to them. There was no time to think. Bill felt Tommy’s hand close firmly on his wrist; in a moment his foot was on the tread-plate and he had scrambled in, Tommy close to him in the rear cockpit. She glanced down at him, smiling a little to see that his lips were moving steadily. Bill was saying his lesson.

Freddy looked round.

“All set? We’re going to fly over the mine—Bill’s choice. Norah will show Jack the way, so we’ll let them lead.”

The propellers had become spinning blurs, the noise of the engines deafening. The Planet moved slowly forward, bumping over the ground. She turned into the wind, running past them. Bill could not look round; all he could do was to grip himself tightly, murmuring—“It goes away—it goes away!” Only “it” did not seem to be going away: he knew he was trembling.

Then they were moving. It seemed a crawl at first, until they swung round into the wind and taxied up the mown grass, their speed increasing rapidly. There was a little bump, a long hop, a faint jar. Then utter smoothness, and the wind suddenly roaring in their ears and the earth dropping away as the plane went up in a long low slant. Fences and trees were a blur beneath them: ahead was only the welcoming blue of the sky. Bill found himself shouting:

“Tommy! I’m flying!”

Where was Fear? It had vanished in a flash. He could hardly imagine that he had ever been afraid. All his being seemed full of a wild joy that was unlike anything he had ever known. “A new world,” Tommy had said. That was just what it was—a new world.

They climbed steadily for a few moments, then turned again and swooped down in a slow dive over the homestead and circled it twice. The lagoon was a mirror lying among the trees. Peering over the side Bill picked out the orchard and outbuildings: waved and shouted to the little forms by the stables, Murty and Billy, and again, with extra vigour, when they roared over the back yard, where Brownie—forgetting her resolve not to look—gaped upwards with Davie in her arms.

The Planet turned her nose towards the hills, and they followed, gaining height rapidly. The bullocks on the Far Plain looked like ants. Bill broke into laughter to see the horses fling up their heads and gallop away wildly as the great birds flashed over them. Freddy banked, and all the earth seemed to tilt—a startling but wholly delightful sensation. Bill looked up at Tommy, his face scarlet with excitement, his eyes dancing.

“Oh—isn’t it gorgeous!” He caught hold of her hand giving it a grateful squeeze, and she laughed back at him. He knew that she said something, but he couldn’t hear it—and knew it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now.

They passed over the river, a thread of silver among the trees. Below them now was the dense timber of the hill country. Not very easy to pick up the mine among the trees: the Planet missed it at first and the planes soared beyond the farthest hills, coming out over the bare tableland that led to the township of Broad’s Creek. That was all to the good, in Bill’s view, because they had to bank again and swing round, heading again for the hills. They flew slowly then in circles, with the Kestrel following the Planet closely; and presently Norah signalled with a handkerchief, pointing downwards.

“There’s the mine!” Bill yelled.

A thread of smoke drifted slowly upwards; Lee Wing’s cooking-fire. They flew as low as the pilots dared, swooping again and again over the tiny cleared space where clay-coloured figures gesticulated and waved, scarcely to be distinguished among great heaps of yellow earth and felled timber. They shouted, though they knew no shouts could be heard. Finally the Planet soared swiftly away, going higher and higher, and Freddy opened his plane’s throttle and followed, until the world was only a green blur below them.

He turned in his seat, shouting to his passengers:

“Any hurry to go home?”

“No!” yelled Bill. Tommy shook her head, laughing.

“Well, hold tight, and we’ll do a little switchbacking!”

The rest of the flight was a confused dream of delirious joy. Long dives that seemed as if they could only end on the ground, but turned miraculously to effortless upward soaring; again the eagle’s swoop down, flattening out and banking in splendid curves. They flashed over Cunjee township, where the afternoon train was just crawling in. Bill chuckled to think of the guard, who was one of his friends: he would be staring up at them, he knew. If only he could tell him where he was!

Farther and farther, the wind whistling through the wires, the engine’s beat like a chant of triumph in Bill’s ears: until the sun dropped westward, and it was time to think of home. One last banking turn; and then a straight race to Billabong with the throttle fully open and Freddy leaning back with the careless air of the pilot who leaves his machine to fly itself.

All too soon the red roof of the homestead was in sight. Below them, as the Kestrel banked, lay the landing field, the white wind-indicator standing out stiffly. They dropped down; Freddy switched off the engine. The ground seemed to rush up to meet them. Under the pilot’s light hand the Kestrel’s tail dropped as he eased off the glide. There was scarcely a jar as the landing-wheels touched the grass; the plane bounced lightly, the engine roared again for a moment, and they were running fast up the smooth turf, coming to rest near the Planet.

Freddy turned, pushing up his goggles.

“Well, young ’un—like it?”

“Like it!” Bill gasped. “Oh, it’s ripping! I say, could we go up again some time?”

“That depends on the mine. If my boss gives me any time off—why not?” He smiled at the boy’s delighted face. “He’ll make a flier all right, Tommy, won’t he?”

“But of course,” Tommy said calmly. “I always knew he would. Freddy, that was a lovely trip. How my poor Bob must have ached to be with us—it was almost cruel to romp about in the air over those poor earth-shovellers!”

“Oh, we’ll bring them back and take them to sweep the cobwebs off the sky some day soon,” he told her, helping her to jump down. Bill was already on the ground, looking at the propeller as if it were curious to see it so still. He walked round the Planet to see the long brown mark her tail-skid had left in the ground. Little tufts of grass and dusty clods showed where it had bitten.

“You’ll be looping the loop some day, old chap,” said Jack Young’s friendly voice. “That’s fun, if you like!”

“O-oh!” said Bill. “Can you?”

Jack nodded. “Easy, when you know how.”

“I saw it—at the pictures,” Bill said. “It was wonderful. You didn’t do it to-day, did you? Not with Norah?”

“He did not,” Norah put in. “I know my limitations, Bill.”

“Wally’s a bigger man than I am,” remarked Jack solemnly. “I don’t see myself doing stunts with his property on board. But now that I’ve landed her safely—care to see it, Bill?”

“Golly!” uttered Bill.

“Careful, now, young Jack,” warned Freddy. “I promised your mother I’d keep my eye on you.”

“Well, so you can,” was Jack’s placid response. He climbed into the Planet, adjusting straps and buckles. “Give me a start, old chap.”

Freddy swung the propeller. The engine blared, settling to a steady throb. Jack gave it a couple of minutes before he moved off, while he tested rudder and controls. Then he was gone. The Planet rose lightly, skimmed the fence, and streaked westward on a long upward slant.

She had reached a height that made her only a silver dot in the sky before she turned, racing back towards the landing ground in a tremendous dive. Almost directly over the watchers, her tail went down and she zoomed upwards, rocketing into the sky. Higher and higher; until her nose came slowly back, the sun flashing on her upturned wings as she went over in a smooth inverted curve that brought gasps from the onlookers and even an admiring ejaculation from Freddy. She fell rapidly, until Bill held his breath; then, the engine’s deep roaring filling the air, she flattened out and began to climb again.

Three times she soared and looped and dived, rolling and spinning like a maddened bird. Jack straightened her out for the last time, circled once or twice, and came back to earth. He was laughing, his sun-tanned face a little flushed.

“Any more for the sky before she goes to bed?”

Bill, still panting with wonder and delight, saw a wistful black face that peeped through the wing-struts. His promise to Billy came back to him.

He ran over to Freddy, putting a half-timid hand on his arm.

“I say, sir—Billy’s awfully keen to go up. D’you think Mr. Young would mind giving him a turn?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Freddy walked over to the Planet, spoke to Jack in a low tone, and turned, beckoning to the black boy.

“Here, Billy! Want to go up?”

Billy came forward at a run.

“Plenty! But not——” He swept his hand round in an expressive whirl.

“No, no loops, Billy. Just an easy canter. Hop in!”

The bare black foot touched the tread-plate and he was behind Jack with a cat-like swing. He sat gripping the edge of the cockpit tightly, his face as expressionless as an idol’s, while the plane moved away. Then they sailed into the air.

Billy leaned over the side. There was no inch of the Billabong paddocks that he did not know. Long years before, his tribe had roamed over them when they were wild country: Billy had had no other home.

But this was a new Billabong that he saw. The great paddocks seemed to contract to little patches—hard to think that it took so long to ride over them. The shorthorn bullocks were tiny things that crawled: the lagoon no larger than a plate. He did not like it. It was queer, unnatural, to see his own country so changed.

He sat up straight, and the joy of their rushing flight took him. This was better; a beautiful loud noise and the wind booming in his ears. Jack, glancing at him, saw his mouth expand in a wide grin. It was still there when, five minutes later, they landed.

Billy got out reluctantly, met by Bill’s excited questioning.

“What do you think of it, Billy? Ripping, isn’t it?”

“Plenty this pfeller likit,” said the black boy. “Him plenty easy.” He looked round at Jack; too shy to speak, but his eyes were grateful.

“We’ll go again some day, Billy,” said Jack, climbing out. “What now?”—as he saw that something more was coming.

“This pfeller clean car—pretty good,” stammered Billy. “You likit I clean your plane, Boss? Can do.”

“Do let him, Jack,” Norah said. “He’ll do it beautifully.”

“Jolly good offer,” said Jack, glancing at the marks of travel which the Planet showed freely. Its polish was dimmed: there were dusty black patches and streaks where oil had been blown on to fuselage and wings. “I’ll come out presently and show you how, Billy.”

“All ri’, Boss. Mine clean two planes, all same,” said the delighted blackfellow.

“I’m coming to help,” piped Bill. “I’ll be back directly after tea, Billy.”

That was one of the best parts of the day, Bill thought, later on. Freddy and Jack had done more than merely directing the cleaning: they had shown him the engines, explained the workings of the controls, and discoursed on flying from the technical point of view, using terms simple enough for a small boy to grasp. They had interspersed the informal lecture with stories of flying that thrilled Billy as much as they thrilled the white boy. Then they had gone away, leaving them to work: and the rest of the afternoon had been a happy orgy of oil and rags and polish. The owners came back to pronounce the work well and truly done, after which all hands had rolled the planes into the sheds that did duty as hangars. Bill had shot home the heavy wooden bolts. There were no locks; but planes were not easily stolen—especially on Billabong.

Getting clean was a lengthy job that evening. Bill came out of the bathroom glowing with much scrubbing, and trotted to find a coat. His room was a mosquito-netted enclosure at the end of the balcony, shared with Jim, when Jim was at home: he gave a happy little sigh to think that in a couple of days Jim would be back in it. And then there would be shearing, with all its work and excitement. He whistled gaily as he brushed his red hair.

On the balcony, as he came out, was Tommy, ready for dinner: a very dainty Tommy in a frock of misty green. She was looking across the plains to the hill country, so deep in thought that she jumped when she found him near her.

“Did I ever see anyone so well groomed! You have had a great day, Bill.”

“Gosh, yes!” said Bill. “One of the very best days I ever had. I did wish Jim had been here, though.”

“Yes,” said Tommy. “That would have made it even better.”

“Things never seem quite the same if Jim’s out of them,” he said.

“Not quite the same,” she agreed.

Bill joined her at the balcony rail. Together they looked across the paddocks in silence.

“Tommy,” he said presently. “Did you know how scared I was this afternoon? Before I flew?”

“You didn’t show anything, Bill,” she told him swiftly.

“Well, I’m jolly glad if I didn’t. You—you don’t think they knew ... ?”

“Freddy and Jack? No, certainly not. There was nothing to show them.”

Bill sighed with relief.

“I’d have hated them to know I was such a fool. But ... you knew, Tommy.”

“I think I just felt it, Bill. Perhaps because I had been afraid myself—and because Bob had told me how men feel.”

She chose her words carefully, and the “men” was balm to Bill’s self-respect. He looked up at her gratefully.

“It did me good when you told me about that. And the thing you told me to say. I was scared stiff, you know, Tommy.”

“But it went away.”

“Rather—just like you said. Tommy, you were no end of a brick to me!”

“Oh, we have forgotten all about that,” she said lightly. “Bury it quite away, Bill.”

Bill considered this.

“No, I don’t think I want to,” he said. “It’ll help me, if I remember it some other time when I get scared of anything.” He drew a deep breath. “Gosh, Tommy, it is lovely to think I never need be scared in the sky again!”