thorns from his person and clothing, and murmured words of regret,
which fell on unheeding ears. Finally his uncle lost patience.

"That'll do Cecil," he said. "Everyone comes to grief occasionally--take
your gruel like a man. Come on, Norah. Murty's waiting." Saying which,
he put Norah up, and they rode off, while Billy held the brown mare's
rein for Cecil, who mounted sulkily. Something in his uncle's face
forbade his replying. But in his heart came the beginning of a grudge
against the Bush, Billabong in general, and Norah in particular. Later
on, he promised himself, there might come a chance to work it off.

For the present, however, there was nothing to be done but nurse his
scratches and his grievance; so he sat sulkily on Betty, and took no
further active part in the morning's work, the consciousness of acting
like a spoilt child not tending to improve his temper. Nobody took any
notice of him. One by one the bullocks were cut out, until between
twenty and thirty were ready, and then the main mob was left to wander
slowly back to the river, while O'Toole and Billy started with the
others to the paddock at the end of the run, which was their first
stage in the seventeen-mile journey to the trucking yards at Cunjee.
They moved off peacefully through the blossoming clover.

"Luckily they don't be afther knowin' what's ahead av thim!" said
Murty. He lifted his battered felt hat to Norah, as he rode away.

"We'll go down and see how high the river is before we go home," said
Mr. Linton.

So they rode down to the river, commented on the unusual amount of
water for so late in the year, inspected the drinking places, paid a