homestead was immense. Brownie was unable to feel any delight at the
idea of entertaining her son.

Norah and her father made the utmost of their remaining time together.
Thursday was devoted to a great muster of calves, which meant unlimited
galloping and any amount of excitement; for the sturdy youngsters were
running with their mothers in one of the bush paddocks, and it was no
easy matter to cut them out and work them away from the friendly
shelter and refuge of the trees. A bush-reared calf is an irresponsible
being, with a great fund of energy and spirits--and, while Norah loved
her day, she was thoroughly tired as they rode home in the late
evening, the last straggler yarded in readiness for the branding next
day. Mr. Linton sent her to bed early, and she did not wake in the
morning until the dressing gong boomed its cheerful summons through the
house.

Mr. Linton was already at breakfast when swift footsteps were heard in
the hall above; a momentary silence indicated that his daughter was
coming downstairs by way of the banisters, and the next moment she
arrived hastily.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," Norah said, greeting him. "But I DID sleep! Let
me pour out your coffee."

She brought the cup to him, investigated a dish of bacon, and slipped
into her place behind the tall silver coffee pot.

"What are we going to do to-day, Dad?"

"I really don't quite know," Mr. Linton said, smiling at her. "There