Under the dust-rug Norah slipped her hand on to his knee.

"It's just lovely to have you--both of you." she added. "You're glad,
too, aren't you, Wally?"

"I could sing!" said Wally.

"Once," said Jim, "you could. But for some years--"

"Beast!" said Wally. "If you weren't driving--"

"And you weren't nervous--!" grinned his chum.

"There'd be wigs on the green," finished Norah, cheerfully. "I'll
drive, if it would be any convenience to either of you."

"We'll postpone it," said Jim. "There's Brownie at the gate, bless her
old heart!"

They shot up the last furlong of the drive. At the big gate of the
yard--very few people, not even bishops, go to the front gate of a Bush
homestead--Brownie stood, her broad face beaming. As they pulled up,
Murty O'Toole came forward to take the horses--a marked compliment from
Murty, who, like most head stockmen, was a free and independent soul.

Jim went over the wheel with a bound, and seized Brownie's hand.

"How are you, Brownie, dear?"