[Cover Illustration]
Stories by
MARY GRANT BRUCE
Large Crown 8vo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth Gilt.
POSSUM
MRS. BRUCE writes with a freedom and grace which must win hosts
of readers, and there is a lovableness about her Australian
youths and maidens which makes one never tired of their healthy
and sociable views of life.
JIM AND WALLY
“There can be no doubt about the success of Miss Bruce . . .
real pathos which gets hold of the reader, and her effects are
obtained in a real natural way that makes them all the more
telling. She evidently knows the up-country life . . . she grips
the attention from start to finish.”—_Melbourne Argus._
A LITTLE BUSH MAID
“It is a real pleasure to recommend this story to Australian
readers.”—_Perth Western Mail._
MATES AT BILLABONG
“The incidents of station life, its humours, festivities, and
mishaps, are admirably sketched in this vivid
narrative.”—_Adelaide Register._
TIMOTHY IN BUSHLAND
“The writer understands all about the wonders of the Australian
bush, its wild horses, kangaroos, wombats, and infinitely
various natural life.”—_Daily Telegraph._
GLEN EYRE
“An admirable story, exquisitely told, full of gentle pathos,
and ringing true all through.”—_The Sportsman._
NORAH OF BILLABONG
“The story is written in a refreshing and lovable manner, which
makes instant appeal.”—_Manchester Courier._
GRAY’S HOLLOW
“A story always healthy and enjoyable in its sympathetic
delineation of unsophisticated nature.”—_The Scotsman._
FROM BILLABONG TO LONDON
“The story has many more incidents than Mrs. Bruce’s earlier
books, and though her style is quiet and matter-of-fact, she
does succeed in infusing reality into her exciting
episodes.”—_The Melbourne Argus._
NORAH
OF BILLABONG
By
MARY GRANT BRUCE
Author of “A Little Bush Maid,” “Mates at Billabong,”
“Glen Eyre,” “Timothy in Bushland,” etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY J. MACFARLANE
W A R D , L O C K & C O . , L I M I T E D
LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO
To All the Kind People
—Little and Big—
Who asked me for “More Norah.”
M. G. B.
CONTENTS
I BREAKING UP
II NIGHT IN THE CITY
III THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN
IV GOING HOME
V WALLY
VI THE CUNJEE CONCERT
VII MORNING
VIII NOON
IX A LITTLE YELLOW FLAME
X MIDNIGHT
XI THE BATTLE UNDER THE STARS
XII BURNT OUT
XIII BEN ATHOL
XIV ON THE TRACK
XV THE HOUSE BY ATHOLTON
XVI BEYOND THE PLAINS
XVII THE PEAK OF BEN ATHOL
XVIII THE WURLEY IN THE ROCKS
XIX THE LAST NIGHT
XX DOWN THE MOUNTAIN
XXI BACK TO BILLABONG
NORAH OF BILLABONG
CHAPTER I
BREAKING UP
When Sheelah in the morning
Comes down the way,
It needs no more adorning
To make it gay.
—_Victor J. Daley._
A VERY tall boy came up the gravel path of Beresford House. It was
“breaking up” day, and an unwonted air of festivity and smartness was
evident, even to the eye of a stranger. The garden looked as though no
leaf had ever been out of place, no sacrilegious footmark ever imprinted
on the soft mould of its beds, where masses of flowers still bade
defiance to the heat of an Australian December. The paths were newly
raked; the freshly mown lawns were carpets of emerald, soft underfoot
and smooth as bowling greens. Aloft, on the square grey tower, fluttered
the school flag—a blue banner, with a device laboriously woven by the
fingers of the sewing class, and indirectly responsible for many
impositions, since it was beyond the power of the sewing class to work
with its several heads so close together as the task demanded, and yet
refrain from talking. It was a banner of great magnificence, and the
school was justly proud of it. Only the sewing class regarded it with
what might be termed a mingled eye.
It was early afternoon—too early for guests to be seriously thinking of
arriving. A couple of motors were drawn up in the shade of a big Moreton
Bay fig; but they belonged to parents who lived at a distance, and had
come earlier in the day, to talk solemnly to the head mistress, and then
to whisk emancipated daughters away to an hotel for lunch—which
necessitated a speedy whisking back, so that the daughters might be
apparelled in white, in readiness for the afternoon’s ceremonials. In
the garden, little groups of girls might be seen already clad in festive
raiment and walking with a seemliness that in itself showed that this
day was different from all other days. They turned interested glances
upon the newcomer, who, resenting the gaze deeply, stalked on up the
path, his straw hat tilted over his brown face. Girls in general had not
come much in his way. It was distinctly embarrassing to run the gauntlet
of so many frankly curious eyes.
“There’s some, one’s brother,” said a red-haired damsel, surveying the
stranger across a bush of New Zealand flax. “Yours, Laura?”
“Mine?” said Laura, regretfully. “Not much—mine is fat. He’s a dear, of
course, but his figure’s something awful! I’d be frightfully proud if he
looked like that!”
“I wonder who he belongs to,” said the red-haired girl, with a cheerful
lack of grammar. “Doesn’t he look miserable—he knows we’re talking
about him!” She giggled with wicked enjoyment. The giggle turned to a
whistle. “Gracious! Just look at young Norah Linton!”
Two younger girls, with arms linked and heads close together, had come
into view in a distant corner of the garden, walking decorously, as
befitted their white dresses. It was the taller of the two, a
brown-faced girl of fifteen, with dark curls and extremely long slim
legs, who had caught sight of the boy walking towards the house, and had
promptly acted as though electrified. She relinquished her companion’s
arms, uttered an incoherent exclamation, and dashed wildly across the
lawn, taking the flower bed that bordered it with a flying leap. The
sound of the racing feet made the boy swing round quickly. Then a smile
broadened on his face, and his eyes twinkled. They pumped each other’s
hands enthusiastically.
“Oh, Wally!” said Norah, breathlessly. “Oh, you old brick!”
Wally Meadows laughed outright.
“You don’t know what a blue funk I’ve been in,” he said. “This is a
horribly scary place to come to alone—and I’ve been picturing you made
as prim and proper as all these girls seem to be. But you’re not!”
“Indeed, I’m not,” Norah answered. “And no more are they!”
“Aren’t they, really?” asked Wally, much interested. “Well, they look
it; there’s a girl over there with red hair who looks nearly too good to
be true”—wherein Mr. Meadows showed as much penetration as is usually
given to man. “You don’t mean to say that they’re all accustomed to
getting across a flower bed in your fashion, Norah?”
“Oh, I’ll get into a dreadful row if Miss Winter happened to see me, I
expect!” Norah said. “It’s against the rules, of course—but I had to
run or to yell, or I’d have missed you—and it’s riskier to yell. Oh,
Wally, I am glad to see you!”
“So am I,” said Wally, heartily—“to see you, I mean. You’ve grown
immense, too, Norah.”
“Yes, haven’t I? All my frocks are too short, and I know Dad will say
I’ve put my feet too far through them. Oh, Wally, have you seen Dad—and
Jim?”
“Saw them yesterday. They ought to be here pretty soon—but my brother
motored me down, so I didn’t come with them. Norah—there’s a girl
looking at me, and if you don’t take her away I shall scream!”
“Why, that’s Jean Yorke,” said Norah, wheeling. “She’s my chum, and
you’ve got to be extra nice to her, ’cause she is coming home with me
for the holidays.”
“Then she deserves any one’s kind sympathy,” said Wally, solemnly. He
advanced upon Jean with outstretched hand and a smile that went far to
put that somewhat shy individual at her ease, while Norah murmured a
haphazard introduction.
Jean was a short and rather thickset person, with blue eyes and a
freckled nose, and a square, honest face. Neither chum could have been
regarded as pretty. They were wholesome-looking girls—alike in the trim
neatness that is characteristic of the Australian schoolgirl; and alike
also in the quality of sturdy honesty that looked straight at the world
from blue eyes and grey. Jean was fair, her thick masses of hair
gathered in more tightly than Norah’s curly brown mop ever
permitted—whereat Norah was frankly envious. She was also wont to be
apologetic, because, although a year the younger, she towered over Jean
by half a head. The unfulfilled ambition of Jean’s dreams was to be tall
and slender, and Norah bore a lasting grudge against Fate for denying so
moderate a longing on her friend’s part. She watched her anxiously for
signs of growth, and at frequent intervals measured her height, while
tactfully ignoring what she herself would have called her girth.
Across the introduction came a cold voice.
“Your brother, I presume, Norah?”
Both girls jumped.
“No—only it’s all the same, Miss Winter,” Norah explained, lucidly.
“It’s Wally Meadows—my brother’s chum.” At which Wally removed his hat
and said: “How do you do?” with such fervour that it seemed that his
peace of mind hung upon Miss Winter’s answer. That severe person’s
coldness was a trifle modified as she answered, but it was Arctic again
when she turned back to Norah.
“I saw you crossing the grass—and the flower bed!” she remarked. “Such
conduct is inexcusable, Norah—I am amazed at you. The garden is not the
hockey field, nor is the arrival of any friend to be the signal for such
conduct!”
Norah was scarlet.
“I’m awfully—I mean I am very—sorry, truly, Miss Winter!” she said. “I
forgot all about everything when I saw Wally. You see, he’s nearly the
same as Jim, and I hadn’t seen him for ten months! I won’t do it again.
And Jean never did it at all!”
“I could see that for myself,” said Miss Winter, drily—whereat Jean
became even more scarlet than Norah. “However, it is too late in the
term for impositions—which is fortunate for you!” There came into the
culprit’s eye an irrepressible twinkle, and the teacher relaxed a
little. “Ah, well—it’s nearly holiday time,” she said, smiling. “But,
Norah, dear—do remember that you are over fifteen!”
“I will, Miss Winter—I truly will,” said the criminal. “I’ll behave
beautifully—see if I don’t!——”
The iron gate clanged, and she glanced round with the quick
instinctiveness that never leaves the bush-bred. A tall man and a lad
almost as tall came into view, and at sight of them Norah’s “behaviour”
suddenly fell away from her, and with a little cry that was half a sob,
she fled to meet them. The gravel scattered under her trim-shod feet;
her long legs twinkled with amazing swiftness. Then the big man put out
his arms to her, and she flung herself into them.
“Oh, Daddy—Daddy!” said Norah. “Oh, Jim! Oh-h!” Words failed her.
“My girl!” said David Linton. Over her head he looked at the teacher,
and found that she was human. He smiled at her in friendly fashion.
“We try to teach Norah deportment,” she said, greeting him, and
laughing, while big Jim hugged his sister frankly, totally unabashed by
the amused glances from various parts of the garden. “But I am afraid
the effect isn’t very evident on breaking up day!”
“I’m quite certain we’re demoralizing influences,” he told her. “But
what can you expect, from the Back of Beyond? We’ll try to make her
remember the deportment when we get her back to the station, Miss
Winter. At present, you must make allowances.”
Miss Winter thawed amazingly under the influence of the quiet voice,
deep and courteous, and the Linton smile, which was a wonderfully
pleasant one. It was very frequent upon the face of her pupil, and had
at all times a tendency to upset discipline; and now the same smile
appeared, if more rarely, on the bronzed giants, father and son, who
confronted her upon the path. They were very alike—over six feet—Mr.
Linton had yet a couple of inches to the good, but Jim was overhauling
him fast—lean and broad-shouldered, with the same well-cut features and
keen eyes. Norah said that they had absorbed the good looks of the
family, leaving her none; which was partly true, although the remark
would have moved her father and brother to wrath. In their grey suits
and Panama hats, they were excellent specimens of long-limbed Australia,
and Norah gazed at them as though she could not take away the eyes that
had been hungry for so many long months.
It was evident that neither Jim nor his father found it easy to talk
polite nothings to Miss Winter. Their eyes kept straying to the slim
figure that was the main thing in their world—Norah, who jigged
irrepressibly on one foot and broke into sudden smiles, and forgot
altogether the discipline and deportment that had been instilled into
her during three terms at Beresford House. To put her there at all had
been a proceeding much like caging a bush bird, for, until she was
fourteen, Norah had known only home and its teachings. And home was
Billabong Station, where, apart from lessons that had been a little
patchy, she had lived her father’s life—a life of open-air, of horses
and cattle, and all the station interests. Jim had been sent to the
Grammar School in Melbourne comparatively early, and Norah’s city
relatives, particularly a number of assorted aunts, were wont to deplore
that the little girl had not had the same opportunity of polish. But the
bond between David Linton and his motherless child had been too strong
to break, and the silent man had snatched at every pretext for delaying
the pang of parting.
After all, as he told himself, half in excuse, Norah was no discredit to
home teaching. In books she might be below the average; but of the
unvoiced learning that lies beyond the world of books she had, perhaps,
rather more than falls to the ordinary schoolgirl. A big station is a
little world in itself, and the Bush teaching makes for self-control and
self-reliance, and a simple, straight outlook on the world that is not a
bad foundation of character. Lessons in deportment and manners are not
part of its curriculum: but there are a good many ideas in thought and
practice that it cultivates half unconsciously. Norah had an almost
superstitious regard for doing what Jim termed “the decent thing.”
Moreover, her father had given her an ideal to follow. The mother who
had gone away from them so soon had never been far from his thoughts or
his slow speech: and “Brownie,” the old woman who had taken the little
dark-haired baby from her weak arms, had helped to make the picture of
“Mother” that was so real that Norah had always known and loved it.
Vaguely she knew that there was a lack in her father’s life which she
must try to fill. It had tended to make her gentle—to bring out
something that was almost protective in her nature. There is a trace of
motherliness in every girl-heart; Norah always felt that, while Dad and
Jim were very large and strong and dependable, yet it rested with her to
“look after them.” Had she put her thoughts into words it is quite
likely that the objects of her care might have felt a shade of
amusement; but as she did not, they appreciated her attentions mightily.
To them, the heart of Billabong had dropped out when Norah went away to
school.
And school had been something of a trial. Norah’s bringing-up had been
along lines where rules of conduct are understood rather than expressed;
although she was a well-behaved damsel, in her own setting, it had not
been easy to find herself suddenly hedged in to such an extent that she
lived and breathed and ate and slept by regulation and timetable. She
realized that it was necessary to conform; but practice was a harder
matter, and the time at school had seen many “scrapes” and many
impositions. Common sense and good temper helped her through, and the
appearance of Jean Yorke upon a somewhat lonely horizon had helped in a
different way. But only Norah herself knew just how bad had been the
homesickness and the silent longing for her own old life. She knew that
Dad and Jim would be hurt by knowing, therefore she kept these matters
to herself, and diligently cultivated Jim’s prescription of “a stiff
upper lip.”
Now it was over. There would be other years; but no year could ever be
quite like the first, especially since there was now Jean to help—Jean
being a comprehending person, whose heart had gone out to Norah since
the day of her arrival at Beresford House, three months ago. Jean came
from New Zealand, and she, too, was lonely, with the desperate
loneliness born of the fact that she would not see home or the home
people for two years. When Norah contemplated Jean’s woeful plight she
was ashamed to admit that she had been homesick on her own account. So
they “twin-souled” immediately, and made life very much easier for each
other.
How this last week had crawled! Each night Norah had crossed out the
finished day upon her calendar with thick, red strokes that were some
relief to her pent-up feelings; always doing it just at the last moment
before turning out the light and jumping into bed, so that she might
have the friendly darkness to cover her as she buried her face in the
pillow, wriggling, with sheer physical inability to keep still as she
realized how near were home and Dad and Jim. Near—but how slow the
days! Examinations and matches were over, and the work of the school
slackening. She flung herself headlong into games and “break up”
preparations to make the slow hours pass, dividing each day into hours
and half hours—she even reduced them to minutes, but the sum total
looked too enormous! Her school work was characteristic of her turmoil
of mind. Once she rattled over the provisions of Magna Charta for the
Latin master with a fluency that paralyzed the unfortunate man, who had
merely asked her to decline an inoffensive noun; while Miss Winter gave
her up as hopeless on being informed that Thomas a’Becket Archbishop of
Canterbury, lost his life by drowning in a butt of malmsey! Norah saw
nothing incongruous in the prelate’s alleged death, and spent much of
the hour’s detention that followed in drawing a spirited picture of
it—representing a large barrel, from the yawning mouth of which
protruded two corpulent legs, clad in gaiters, and immaculately shod.
The charm of the picture was in the portion of it that was not visible.
It was unfortunate that it fell into the hands of Miss Winter, who was
handicapped by a literal mind. Altogether, the last week had been more
or less exciting and painful, and it was quite as well that it was over.
The great bell of the school rang out sharply, and a kind of white
flicker came over the garden as the girls moved quickly in answer. It
was the signal to assemble in hall. Norah exchanged looks of longing
with Jim and Wally. Then she and Jean moved off towards the house,
endeavouring to calm spasmodic footsteps.
A little later saw the three visitors making a gallant attempt to
dispose their long legs among the crowded rows of chairs reserved for
parents and “belongings,” while the boys sent rapid telegraphic signals
to Norah, by this time a mere speck amid the white-clad girls massed
upon the platform. The big hall was packed with visitors—proud parents,
each supremely confident that “our girl” was something quite beyond the
average; big sisters, anxious to create the impression of being far
removed from matters so juvenile as school; brothers, wearing the
colours of different schools, and assuming great boredom. Then came Miss
Winter, followed by church dignitaries and other notable people,
including two members of Parliament, who behaved as though engrossed
with affairs of State; whereat the infant classes arose and sang a
roundelay with much gusto, and the business of the day began.
The Billabong contingent was not happy. It was uncomfortably crowded;
its view was obstructed by immense erections of millinery on the heads
of ladies immediately in front; frequently it was tickled on the back of
the neck by similar erections belonging to ladies who leaned forward,
from the rear, manœuvring for a better vision of the proceedings. It was
much embarrassed by the French play, acted by the senior class—the
embarrassment being chiefly due to fear of laughing in the wrong place.
Nor did lengthy recitations from Shakespeare appeal to it greatly, or a
song by the red-haired girl, the said song being of the type known as an
“aria,” and ungallantly condemned by Jim as “screamy enough to scare
cockatoos with!” It brightened at a physical culture display, and
applauded vigorously when a curly-haired mite essayed a recitation,
broke down in the middle, and finished, not knowing whether or not to
cry, until much cheered by the friendly clapping. The moment of the
programme—for Billabong—came when Norah, very pale and unhappy, played
a Chopin nocturne. Wally joined wildly in the succeeding applause, but
Jim and his father sat up straight, endeavouring to appear unconcerned,
but radiating pride. Norah did not dare to look at them until she was
safely back in her place. Then she shot a glance at the two tall heads;
and what she saw in their faces suddenly sent the blood leaping to her
own.
Afterwards came the distribution of prizes—a matter which did not
greatly concern Norah, whose scholastic achievements could scarcely be
classed as other than ordinary. However, she had carried off the music
prize in her class—music being born within her, and, even in lessons,
only a joy. She was still flushed with excitement when the long ceremony
was at an end, and she was able to slip from the platform and find her
way to the waiting trio—standing tall and stiff against the wall, while
the crowd seethed in the body of the hall, and other book-laden
daughters were reunited to parents as proud as David Linton.
“I’ll look after that,” Jim said, with a masterful little gesture,
possessing himself of Norah’s prize. “Well done, old chap!” He patted
her head with brotherly emphasis.
“Proud to know you, ma’am,” said Wally, humbly. “Norah, I was nearly
asleep until you came on to play!”
“And quite asleep afterwards,” grinned Jim. “Snored, Norah—I give you
my word!”
“That’s one I owe you!” said the maligned Mr. Meadows, vengefully. “I
clapped until my horny hands were sore, Norah. Made a hideous noise!”
“Then there were two of us,” said Norah, laughing. “I never knew old
Chopin sound so funny—catch me playing before a lot of people again! I
was scared to look at old Herr Wendt. Probably he pulled out most of his
remaining locks—I know I made at least three mistakes.”
“It sounded all right,” said her father, and smiled at her. “Now, young
woman, this is very nice, but one can have enough of it.” A
wheat-trimmed hat brushed across his face, and he emerged in some
confusion. “How soon will you two girls be ready?”
“Must we change?”
“I sincerely trust not,” said Mr. Linton, appalled at the thought of
awaiting two feminine toilettes of a greater magnificence than was
familiar to him with his daughter. “Not if you have big coats—I’ve a
motor outside. Your heavy luggage has gone, I believe.”
“Yes, it went by carrier,” said Norah, happily. “All right, Daddy, we’ll
be back in five minutes. Come on, Jean!” They disappeared, to re-emerge
presently, muffled in heavy blue coats and wearing sailor hats.
Farewells hurtled through the air.
“Good-bye, Miss Winter. Merry Christmas!”
“Good-bye, Carrots, dear!” This to the red-haired singer, who accepted
the greeting and the appellation cheerfully.
“Good-bye, young Norah. Behave yourself, if you can. But you can’t!”
“Good-bye, Jean!”
“Good-bye, every one. Mind you all come back!”
“Good-bye!”
“Merry Christmas!”
“Good-bye, school!” The note of utter thankfulness in Norah’s voice
brought a twinkle to Jim’s eyes.
The motor chug-chugged on the path. Norah did not like motors—horses
were infinitely better, in her opinion. But this one seemed a chariot of
joy. They bundled in, pell-mell.
“Are you all right?” queried Mr. Linton.
“I never was so all right in my life!” said Norah, fervently. The car
slid away into the dusty haze of the white road.