"
"It's like both of you--you nice stupids!" she said.
"What?--the pot-scrub! That's not polite of you, Miss Rainham; and so
untrue, where I'm concerned." Wally sat down on the arm of a lounge and
regarded her with a twinkle. "What's old Bob doing?"
Tommy laughed happily.
"I think whenever we don't know where Bob is, he's safe to be out
looking at either the sheep or the pigs," she said. "He just loves them;
and he says he can see them growing."
There was a hint of Spring in the air, and more than a hint of good
grass in the green paddocks stretching away from the house. By the creek
the willows were putting out long, tender shoots that would soon be a
thick curtain. The lucerne patch that stretched along its bank was dense
and high. The Rainhams had been delayed in taking possession of Creek
Cottage; a severe cold had smitten Tommy just at the end of her labours
in the hospital, and, being thoroughly tired out, it had been some time
before she could shake off its effects. Mr. Linton and Norah had put
down their feet with joint firmness, declaring that in no circumstances
should she begin housekeeping until she was thoroughly fit; so the
Rainhams had remained at Billabong. Tommy was petted and nursed in a
way she had not known since Aunt Margaret had died, while Bob worked
feverishly at his farm, riding over every day from Billabong, with a
package of Brownie's sandwiches in his pocket, and returning at
dusk, dirty and happy.
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