Then outside, and to the stables--a massive red brick
pile, creeper-covered, where Monarch and Garryowen, and Bosun, and the
buggy ponies, looked placidly from their loose boxes, and asked for--and
got--apples from Jim's pockets. Tommy even made her way up the steep
ladder to the loft that ran the whole length of the stables--big enough
for the men's yearly dance, but just now crammed with fragrant oaten
hay. She wanted to see everything, and chatted away in her eager,
half-French fashion, like a happy child.
"It is so lovely to be here," she told Norah later, when the keen
evening wind had driven them indoors from a tour of the garden. She was
kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, unpacking her trunk, while Norah
perched on the end of the bed. "You see, I am no longer afraid; and I
have always been afraid since Aunt Margaret died. In Lancaster Gate I
was afraid all the time, especially when I was planning to run away.
Then, on the ship, though every one was so kind, the big, unknown
country was like a wall of Fear ahead; even in Melbourne everything
seemed uncertain, doubtful. But now, quite suddenly, it is all right. I
just know we shall get along quite well."
"Why, of course you will," Norah said, laughing down at the earnest
face. "You're the kind of people who must do well, because you are so
keen. And Billabong has adopted you, and we're going to see that you
make a success of things.
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