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112 pages

English

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Norah, Jim and Wally have to grow up, but that is always the order of things. Growing up brings its own attractions and its own romances. One of the best books in the Billabong series, Billabong's Daughter delves a lot more into the emotions of Jim, Norah and Wally than previous books, using Wally's experience in Queensland and his bonding with Norah as examples.

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Adventure

Young Adult Fiction

Romance

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Publié par	Rare Treasure Editions
Date de parution	03 novembre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781774642511
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0000€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Billabong's Daughter
by Mary Grant Bruce

First published in 1924
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
Trava2909@gmail.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

“Wally swung his stock-whip clear with a crack.”
Billabong’s Daughter

by Mary Grant Bruce

CHAPTER I NORAH
T HE long country road ran eastward, in a straightline of unending weariness. There was nothing tobreak its monotony; even the few trees that had beenspared when the first fencing was erected were sparseand stunted—wind-blown, twisted things, with tall, slendertrunks bending away from the fierce west winds; theironly foliage, tufts of weak leaves, flung high in air. Oneither side ran the lines of wire fencing, as straight asthough they had been ruled. Grey plains lay beyondthem, dotted here and there with clumps of tea-tree, leftto furnish shelter for the sheep. A drain, wide and deep,ran north and south across the flat country. Once it hadbeen all morass-land, a shallow lake in winter, in summera half-dry bog; a good place for snipe and wild-duck,but not to be considered as a profitable holding. Thenthe estate to which it belonged had passed into new andenergetic hands, and the morass had been cleared anddrained. Very many snakes had perished in the process,and the wild-fowl for which it had long been a sanctuaryhad flown away, protesting, to regions further back. Theplain had been ploughed, fallowed, and a rough crop ofoats had been taken off it: then the estate had beensubdivided and sold again, and where once miles of boghad stretched and cranes and herons had sailed majestically,settlers’ cottages appeared, and shy little children,three or four on one rough pony, scurried along the tracksto the school-house at Four-Cross-Roads. Which, nodoubt, was as it should be; but some of those who hadknown it of old sighed for the days when, instead of greyplain, hot and bare in summer, there had stretched thecool, green recesses of the morass, a perpetual hunting-groundfor adventurous young people who did not mindsnakes.
Jim Linton and his friend Wally Meadows had oftenroamed there; usually accompanied by Jim’s sisterNorah, whose only fear, throughout her “teens,”had been that Jim and Wally might at any time behampered by remembering that she was a girl. She hadmanaged to obscure this fact so successfully that theboys had always accepted her naturally as a chum, withvery few limitations; and even the years of the GreatWar, which had whisked them all to Europe and playedstrange tricks with them, had not altered the old footing.Billabong, the Lintons’ station, was just the same whenthey came back to its welcome: the old servants whowaited breathlessly for their coming seemed unable torealize that “the children” had managed to grow up.The old routine of work and play claimed them allnaturally: and still, to Norah and the boys, there wasnothing so good as a sunny Billabong day, with a goodhorse to ride and the thick grass in the hills and gullieslike a green carpet, springing under the galloping hoofs.Motors and telephones and electric light and othercommonplaces of modern existence had come to Billabong—sniffedat a little by Murty O’Toole, the head stockman,and Mrs. Brown, who had ruled the homestead sinceNorah was a baby, and who was regarded by the stationas a species of stout angel in petticoats. But the paddockswere the same, with their wide spaces of undulatinggalloping ground; and when work with the cattle hadto be done there was no modern invention to take theplace of a daring rider who could swing a stock-whip—ofa gallant horse, able to turn “on a sixpence,” with anuncanny knowledge of just what a bullock might do.And these things were the breath of life to Jim Lintonand his chum Wally Meadows, and to Norah, who wasthe mate of both.
David Linton, the father of Jim and Norah, watchedthem always with comprehension in his deep-set greyeyes. The War, that had definitely aged him, with itslong strain and its sharp anxieties, seemed to have leftthem as children. It had caught them on the borderlineof childhood, scarcely released from school, and for fouryears had flung upon them the responsibilities of men andwomen. Like thousands of other fathers, David Lintonhad sorrowed over those four lost years of Youth. Then,with the ending of the long strain, when home stretchedglad arms to receive them again, Time seemed to put backthe marching hands of his clock so that they might findtheir vanished playtime. The years slipped from them:it seemed a kind of dream that there had been fighting,suffering, stern, hard work. The district said, “It’s asight for sore eyes to see them Billabong kids homeagain!” And not even Jim—it was one of the strangestparts of the dream that Jim had actually been MajorLinton!—would have noticed anything peculiar in beingcalled a Billabong kid.
Wally, of course, was Billabong’s only by adoption,but he “belonged” so completely that there were timeswhen he forgot that he had ever possessed any otherhome. He had been Jim Linton’s chum at school—ashy, lonely little Queensland boy to whom Jim’s heart hadgone out: Jim having been always a protective person.When he discovered that Wally was an orphan, and hadfor his only home the house of a married brother, it hadseemed to Jim quite necessary to adopt him: and Wallyhad slipped into the way of spending all his holidays atBillabong. The brother, Edward Meadows, welcomedthe arrangement with relief. He was so much older thanhis happy-go-lucky little brother that he had never feltthat he really knew him; moreover, his wife showed nodesire to add Wally to her cares, and openly hinted thatthe management of the boy’s share of their father’sproperty, in addition to his own, was as much as shouldbe expected from Edward. So Wally went to Melbourneto school, which made returning for holidays a difficultmatter: and Jim Linton did the rest. To Mrs. EdwardMeadows, Jim Linton appeared a kind of amiable Providence.She showed her appreciation of him, as well asher affection for Wally, by knitting each a pair of sockswhen they went to the War.
Occasionally, since their return from England, Wallyhad suffered from an uneasy feeling that it was time thathe set about some regular work in life. But, as Jimpointed out, there always seemed too much to do onBillabong. It was difficult to say where play ended andwork began on Billabong, since anything to do with horsesalways presented itself to the boys—and Norah—as “alark”: but in one way or another Jim and Wally contrivedto be perpetually busy, and were never withoutjobs ahead that seemed to demand all their personalattention. They had learned much from Mr. Linton andMurty O’Toole: the squatter had always been determinedthat when the time came for them to manage places oftheir own they should not be ill-prepared. Men at thesale-yards knew them as good judges of cattle. WhenWally developed periodical fits of uneasiness, declaringthat he was only a loafer on Billabong, Jim would kindlyoffer him weekly wages as a jackeroo: which generallyended the matter, for the time being, in a cheerfulscrimmage.
Then there were their friends to be helped along thepath of land-management in Australia—Bob Rainham andhis sister Cecilia, better known as “Tommy,” who, beingEnglish and “new-chums,” had been partially adopted bythe Lintons, who had helped them to settle on a farm afew miles from Billabong. Ill-fortune had fallen uponBob and Tommy, for a bush-fire had come along one NewYear’s Day, and had burned them out within a few monthsof their settling in; a disaster which they had met withsuch dogged determination that it seemed more thanever necessary to help them. The boys and Norah wereconstantly at the Rainhams’ farm, to save them, as theyloftily explained, from the consequences of having beenborn in England. This remark also was apt to lead to ascrimmage.
To-day Jim and Wally had been to a sale of stock withBob, and Norah had spent the day with Tommy, makingmarmalade. This undertaking had ended well; themarmalade was the right colour, it had “jellied” beautifully;and, after a cup of tea in Tommy’s spotless littlekitchen, Norah had set out for home.
She was riding a horse of Jim’s, Garryowen, whom Jimconsidered no longer equal to the task of carrying hisgreat length and weight. Garryowen was not in his firstyouth, but his spirit was as gay as when Jim, a lankyschoolboy, had first raced him over the plains; and to-dayhe was clearly of opinion that he had not been riddenenough. He pranced and gambolled round the Rainhams’stable-yard when Norah had mounted him, until thegentle soul of Tommy was filled with dismay. TheLintons had taught Tommy to ride, but she still regardedall horses with awe, and many with distrust.Just at the moment she distinctly distrusted Garryowen.
“Norah, do be careful! I’m sure that horse isn’t abit safe!”
“Why, he’s as safe as a rocking-chair!” Norah hadresponded, cheerily. “It’s only his playful way, Thomasdear—don’t worry.”
“I’d rather he played with all four feet on the groundat once,” Tommy had answered. “Are you sure he’sall right, Norah?”
“Why, of course he is—he only wants a gallop. Hehasn’t had enough work, and he thinks he’s a four-year-oldagain. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Tommy: I’ll takehome the long way, by the Bog Road; I can let himout along that grass track, and he’ll be tame as a rabbitafterwards.”
“All right.” Tommy’s answer had been a shadedoubtful. “But do take care, Norah darling, for hereally seems extremely mad, and that road is so lonely.”She had held the gate open as Garryowen sidled through.“Bob says there are new settlers on one of those bogfarms: English,