Part 24 (2/2)

”Oh, I'd love it,” said Norah, beaming. The beam, had he known it, was one of delight at the new ring in her patient's voice. Life had come back to it: he held his head erect, and his eyes were no longer hopeless.

”And riding?” she hesitated.

”I don't know,” he said. ”I don't believe I could even get on.”

”There's a steady old pony,” Norah said. ”Why not practise on him?

He stands like a rock. I won't stay and look at you, but Con could--you see he's lost a leg himself, so you wouldn't mind him. I'm sure you'll find you can manage--and when you get confidence we'll go out together.”

”Well, you would put hope into--into a dead codfis.h.!.+” he said. ”Great Scott, if I thought I could get on a horse again!”

Norah laughed.

”We're all horse-mad,” she said. ”If I were--like you, I know that to ride would be the thing that would help me most. So you have just got to.” They had arrived at the stables, where Con had the car out and was lovingly polis.h.i.+ng its bonnet.

”Con, can you teach Captain Hardress to drive?”

”Is it the car?” asked Con. ”And why not, miss?”

”Can I manage it, do you think?” asked Hardress. ”I've only one leg.”

”'Tis as many as I have meself,” returned Con cheerfully. ”And I'm not that bad a driver, am I, Miss Norah?”

”You're not,” Norah answered. ”Now I'll leave you to Con, Captain Hardress: I suppose you'll learn all about the car before you begin to drive her. Con can run you round to the house afterwards, if you're tired. The horses are in the stables, too, if you'd care to look at them.”

”Jones have the brown pair out, miss,” said Con. ”But the others are all here.”

”Well, you can show them to Captain Hardress, Con. I want him to begin riding Brecon.”

She smiled at Hardress, and ran off, looking back just before the shrubberies hid the stable-yard. Hardress was peering into the bonnet of the car, with Con evidently explaining its inner mysteries; just as she looked, he straightened up, and threw off his coat with a quick gesture.

”_He_'s all right,” said Norah happily. She hurried on.

The Tired People were off her hands for the morning. Colonel and Mrs.

West had gone for a drive; Captain Garrett was playing golf with Major Hunt, who was developing rapidly in playing a one-armed game, and was extremely interested in his own progress. It was the day for posting to Australia, and there was a long letter to Brownie to be finished, and one to Jean Yorke, her chum in Melbourne. Already it was late; in the study, her father had been deep in his letters for over an hour.

But as she came up to the porch she saw him in the hall.

”Oh--Norah,” he said with relief. ”I've been looking for you. Here's a letter from Harry Trevor, of all people!”

”Harry!” said Norah delightedly. ”Oh, I'm so glad! Where is he, Dad?”

”He's in London--this letter has been wandering round after us. We ought to have had it days ago. Harry has a commission now--got it on the field, in Gallipoli, more power to him: and he's been wounded and sent to England. But he says he's all right.”

”Oh, won't Jim and Wally be glad!” Harry Trevor was an old school-fellow whom Fate had taken to Western Australia; it was years since they had met.

”He has two other fellows with him, he says; and he doesn't know any one in London, nor do they. His one idea seems to be to see us. What are we to do, Norah? Can we have them here?”

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