They're safer among the pots and pans, Murty. But when the master looks
at me I don't feel comferable."
"Yerra, let him look," said Murty stoutly. "'Tis the great head ye have
on ye; I'd never have thought of it. Don't go worryin', now. Are ye not
sendin' them in the heighth of good livin' every day?"
"That's the least I can do," said Brownie, brightening a little. "Only
I'd like to think Miss Norah and Miss Tommy got some of it, and not just
them patients, gethered up from goodness knows where."
"Yerra, Miss Norah wouldn't want to know their addresses before she'd
feed 'em," said the bewildered Murty. But there came a suspicious smell
from the kitchen, as of something burning, and Mrs. Brown fled with a
swiftness that was surprising, considering her circumference.
Jim lived a moving existence in those days, flying between Billabong
and Cunjee in the car, bringing supplies, always on hand for a job if
wanted, and insisting that on their daily "time off" Norah and Tommy
should come out for a spin into the country. Sometimes they managed to
take Sister, too, or some of the other helpers. The car never went out
with any empty seats. Presently they were recovering patients to be
given fresh air or taken home; white-faced mothers, longing to be back
to the house and children left in the care of "dad," and whatever kindly
neighbours might drop in; or "dads" themselves, much bewildered at the
amazing illness that had left them feeling as if neither their legs nor
their heads belonged to them.
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