allowed to look on at one or two of these gatherings. She thought them
the height of human bliss, and was only sorry that sheer inability to
dance prevented her from "taking the floor" with Mick Shanahan, the
horse breaker, who had paid her the compliment of asking her first. It
was a great compliment, too, Norah felt, seeing what a man of agility
and splendid accomplishments was Mick--and that she was only nine at the
time.

There was one loose box which was Norah's very own property, and without
her permission no horse was ever put in it except its rightful
occupant--Bobs, whose name was proudly displayed over the door in Jim's
best carving.

Bobs had always belonged to Norah, He had been given to her as a foal,
when Norah used to ride a round little black sheltie, as easy to fall
off as to mount. He was a beauty even then, Norah thought; and her
father had looked approvingly at the long-legged baby, with his fine,
well-bred head. "You will have something worth riding when that fellow
is fit to break in, my girlie," he had said, and his prophecy had been
amply fulfilled. Mick Shanahan said he'd never put a leg over a finer
pony. Norah knew there never had been a finer anywhere. He was a big
pony, very dark bay in colour, and "as handsome as paint," and with the
kindest disposition; full of life and "go," but without the smallest
particle of vice. It was an even question which loved the other best,
Bobs or Norah. No one ever rode him except his little mistress. The pair
were hard to beat--so the men said.

To Norah the stables were the heart of Billabong. The house was all very
well--of course she loved it; and she loved her own little room, with
its red carpet and dainty white furniture, and the two long windows that