Two hammocks, side by side, under a huge pine tree, swung lazily to and fro in the evening breeze. In them Norah and Harry¹ rocked happily, too comfortable, as Norah said, to talk. They had all been out riding most of the day, and were happily tired. Tea had been discussed fully², and everything was exceedingly peaceful.  
Footsteps at racing³ speed sounded far off on the gravel⁴ of the front path—a wide sweep that ran round the broad lawn. There was a scatter⁵ of stones, and then a thud-thud over the grass to the pine trees—sounds that signalised the arrival of Jim and Wally, in much haste. Jim's hurry was so excessive that he could not pull himself up in time to avoid Harry. He bumped violently into the hammock, with the natural result that Harry swung sharply against Norah, and for a moment things were rather mixed.
 
“You duffer!” growled⁶ Harry, steadying his rocking bed. “Hurt you? “—this to Norah.
 
“No, thanks,” Norah laughed. “What's the matter with you two?”
 
“Got an idea,” Wally gasped⁷, fanning himself with a pine cone⁸.
 
“Hurt you?”
 
“Rather. It's always a shock for me to have an idea. Anyway this isn't mine—it's Jim's.”
 
“Oh.” Norah's tone was more respectful. Jim's ideas were not to be treated lightly as a rule. “Well, let's hear it.”
 
“Fishing,” Jim said laconically⁹. “Let's start out at the very daybreak, and get up the river to Anglers' Bend. They say you can always get fish there. We'll ride, and take Billy to carry the tucker and look for bait. Spend the whole blessed day, and come home with the mopokes. What do you chaps say?”
 
“Grand idea!” Norah cried, giving her hammock an ecstatic swing. “We'll have to fly round, though. Did you ask Dad?”
 
“Yes, and he said we could go. It's tucker that's the trouble. I don't know if we're too late to arrange about any.”
 
“Come and ask Mrs. Brown,” said Norah, flinging a pair of long black legs over the edge of the hammock. “She'll fix us up if she can.”
 
They tore off to the kitchen and arrived panting. Mrs. Brown was sitting in calm state on the kitchen verandah, and greeted them with a wide, expansive smile. Norah explained their need.
 
Mrs. Brown pursed up her lips.
 
“I haven't anythink fancy, my dear,” she said slowly. “Only plum cake and scones¹⁰, and there's a nice cold tongue, and an apple pie. I'd like you to have tarts¹¹, but the fire's out. Do you think you could manage?”
 
Jim laughed.
 
“I guess that'll do, Mrs. Brown,” he said. “We'll live like fighting cocks, and bring you home any amount of fish for breakfast. Don't you worry about sandwiches, either—put in a loaf or two of bread, and a chunk¹² of butter, and we'll be right as rain.”
 
“Then I'll have it all packed for you first thing, Master Jim,” Mrs. Brown declared.
 
“That's ripping,” said the boys in a breath. “Come and find Billy.”
 
Billy was dragged from the recesses¹³ of the stable. He grinned widely with joy at the prospect¹⁴ of the picnic.
 
“All the ponies¹⁵ ready at five, Billy,” ordered Jim. “Yours too. We're going to make a day of it—and we'll want bait. Now, you chaps, come along and get lines and hooks ready!”
 
“Whirr-r-r!”
 
The alarm clock by Jim's bedside shrieked¹⁶ suddenly in the first hint of daylight, and Jim sprang from his pillow with the alertness of a Jack-in-the-box, and grabbed the clock, to stop its further eloquence¹⁷. He sat down on the edge of his bed, and yawned tremendously. At the other side of the room Harry slept peacefully. Nearer Wally's black eyes twinkled for a moment, and hurriedly closed, apparently¹⁸ in deep slumber¹⁹. He snored softly.
 
“Fraud!” said Jim, with emphasis. He seized his pillow, and hurled²⁰ it vigorously. It caught Wally on the face and stayed there, and beneath its shelter the victim still snored on serenely²¹.
 
Jim rose with deliberation and, seizing the bedclothes, gave a judicious²² pull, which ended in Wally's suddenly finding himself on the floor. He clasped wildly at the blankets, but they were dragged from his reluctant grasp. Jim's toe stirred him gently and at length he rose.
 
“Beast!” he said miserably²³. “What on earth's the good of getting up at this hour?”
 
“Got to make an early start,” replied his host. “Come and stir up old Harry.”
 
Harry was noted²⁴ as a sleeper²⁵. Pillows hurled on top of him were as nought²⁶. The bedclothes were removed, but he turned on his side and slumbered²⁷ like a little child.
 
“And to think,” Wally said, “that that chap springs up madly when the getting-up bell rings once at school!”
 
“School was never like this,” Jim grinned. “There's the squirt, Wal.”
 
The squirt was there; so was the jug²⁸ of water, and a moment sufficed to charge the weapon. The nozzle was gently inserted into the sleeper's pyjama collar, and in a moment the drenched²⁹ and wrathful hero arose majestically³⁰ from his watery³¹ pillow and, seizing his tormentors, banged their heads together with great effort.
 
“You're slow to wake, but no end of a terror when once you rouse up,” said Wally, ruefully rubbing his pate³².
 
“Goats!” said Harry briefly³³, rubbing his neck with a hard towel. “Come on and have a swim.”
 
They tore down the hail, only pausing at Norah's door while Jim ran in to wake her—a deed speedily accomplished³⁴ by gently and firmly pressing a wet sponge upon her face. Then they raced to the lagoon³⁵, and in a few minutes were splashing and ducking in the water. They spent more time there than Jim had intended, their return being delayed by a spirited boat race between Harry's slippers³⁶, conducted by Wally and Jim. By the time Harry had rescued his sopping³⁷ footgear, the offenders³⁸ were beyond pursuit in the middle of the lagoon, so he contented³⁹ himself with annexing⁴⁰ Jim's slippers, in which he proudly returned to the house. Jim, arriving just too late to save his own, promptly⁴¹ “collared” those of Wally, leaving the last-named youth no alternative but to paddle home in the water-logged slippers—the ground being too rough and stony⁴² to admit of barefoot travelling.
 
Norah, fresh from the bath, was prancing⁴³ about the verandah in her kimono as the boys raced up to the house, her hair a dusky cloud about her face.
 
“Not dressed?—you laziness!” Jim flung at her.
 
“Well, you aren't either,” was the merry retort.
 
“No; but we've got no silly hair to brush!”
 
“Pooh!—that won't take me any time. Mrs. Brown's up, Jim, and she says breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”
 
“Good old Brownie!” Jim ejaculated. “Can't beat her, can you? D'you know if she's got the swag packed?”
 
“Everything's packed, and she's given it all to Billy, and it's on old Polly by now.” Polly was the packhorse. “Such a jolly, big bundle—and everything covered over with cabbage leaves to keep it cool.”
 
“Hooroo for Casey! Well, scurry⁴⁴ and get dressed, old girl. I bet you keep us waiting at the last.”
 
“I'm sure I won't,” was the indignant answer, as Norah ran off through the hail. “Think of how much longer you take over your breakfast!”
 
Ten minutes later breakfast smoked on the wide kitchen table, Mrs. Brown, like a presiding goddess, flourishing a big spoon by a frying-pan that sent up a savoury odour.
 
“I'm sure I hope you'll all kindly⁴⁵ excuse having it in here,” she said in pained tones. “No use to think of those lazy hussies of girls having the breakfast-room ready at this hour. So I thought as how you wouldn't mind.”
 
“Mind!—not much, Mrs. Brown,” Jim laughed. “You're too good to us altogether. Eggs and bacon! Well, you are a brick! Cold tucker would have done splendidly for us.”
 
“Cold, indeed!—not if I know it—and you precious lambs off for such a ride, and going to be hot weather and all,” said the breathless Mrs. Brown indignantly. “Now, you just eat a good breakfast, Miss Norah, my love. I've doughnuts here, nearly done, nice and puffy and brown, just as you like them, so hurry up and don't let your bacon get cold.”
 
There was not, indeed, much chance for the bacon, which disappeared in a manner truly alarming, while its fate was speedily shared by the huge pile of crisp doughnuts which Mrs. Brown presently placed upon the table with a flourish.
 
“We don't get things like this at school!” Wally said regretfully, pausing for an instant before his seventh.
 
“All the more reason you should eat plenty now,” said their constructor, holding the doughnuts temptingly beneath his nose. “Come now, dearie, do eat something!” and Wally bashfully recommenced his efforts.
 
“How's Billy getting on?” Jim inquired.
 
“Billy's in the back kitchen, Master Jim, my love, and you've no call to worry your head about him, He's had three plates of bacon and five eggs, and most like by this time he's finished all his doughnuts and drunk his coffee-pot dry. That black image will eat anythink,” concluded Mrs. Brown solemnly.
 
“Well, I can't eat anything more, anyhow,” Jim declared. “How we're all going to ride fifteen miles beats me. If we sleep all day, instead of catching⁴⁶ fish for you, you've only got yourself to blame, Mrs. Brown.” Whereat Mrs. Brown emitted fat and satisfied chuckles⁴⁷, and the meeting broke up noisily, and rushed off to find its hats.
 
Six ponies in a line against the stable yard fence—Bobs, with an eye looking round hopefully for Norah and sugar; Mick, most feather-headed of chestnuts⁴⁸, and Jim's especial delight; Topsy and Barcoo, good useful station ponies, with plenty of fun, yet warranted not to break the necks of boy-visitors; Bung Eye, a lean piebald, that no one but black Billy ever thought of riding; next to him old Polly, packed securely with the day's provisions. Two fishing-rods stuck out from her bundles, and a big bunch of hobbles jingled⁴⁹ as she moved.
 
There was nothing in the saddles to distinguish Norah's mount, for she, too, rode astride. Mr. Linton had a rooted dislike to side saddles, and was wont⁵⁰ to say he preferred horses with sound withers⁵¹ and a daughter whose right hip⁵² was not higher than her left. So Norah rode on a dainty little hunting saddle like Jim's, her habit being a neat divided skirt, which had the double advantage of looking nice on horseback, and having no bothersome tail to hold up when off.
 
The boys were dressed without regard to appearances—loose old coats and trousers, soft shirts and leggings. Red-striped towels, peeping out of Polly's packs, indicated that Jim had not forgotten the possibilities of bathing which the creek⁵³ afforded. A tin teapot jangled cheerfully against a well-used black billy.
 
“All right, you chaps?” Jim ran his eye over the ponies and their gear. “Better have a look at your girths. Come along.”
 
Norah was already in the saddle, exulting⁵⁴ over the fact that, in spite of Jim's prophecy that she would be late, she was the first to be mounted. Bobs was prancing happily, infected with the gaiety of the moment, the sweet morning air and sunshine, and the spirit of mirth that was everywhere. Mick joined him in capering⁵⁵, as Jim swung himself into the saddle. Billy, leading Polly, and betraying an evident distaste for a task which so hampered⁵⁶ the freedom of his movements, moved off down the track.
 
Just as Wally and Harry mounted, a tall figure in pyjamas⁵⁷ appeared at the gate of the back yard.
 
“There's Dad!” Norah cried gleefully, cantering up to him. The boys followed.
 
“Had to get up to see the last of you,” Mr. Linton said; “not much chance of sleeping anyhow, with you rowdy people about.”
 
“Did we wake you, Dad?—sorry.”
 
“Very sorry, aren't you?” Mr. Linton laughed at the merry face. “Well, take care of yourselves; remember, Norah's in your charge, Jim, and all the others in yours, Norah! Keep an eye to your ponies, and don't let them stray too far, even if they are hobbled. And mind you bring me home any amount of fish, Harry and Wal.”
 
“We will, sir,” chorused the boys.
 
Norah leant from her saddle and slipped an arm round her father's neck.
 
“Good-bye, Dad, dear.”
 
“Good-bye, my little girl. Be careful—don't forget.” Mr. Linton kissed her fondly. “Well, you're all in a hurry—and so am I, to get back to bed! So-long, all of you. Have a good time.”
 
“So-long!” The echoes brought back the merry shout as the six ponies disappeared round the bend in the track.
 
Down the track to the first gate helter-skelter—Billy, holding it open, showed his white teeth in a broad grin as the merry band swept through. Then over the long grass of the broad paddock, swift hoofs⁵⁸ shaking off the dewdrops that yet hung sparkling in the sunshine. Billy plodded⁵⁹ far behind with the packhorse, envy in his heart and discontent with the fate that kept him so far in the rear, compelled to progress at the tamest of jogs.
 
The second paddock traversed, they passed through the sliprails into a bush paddock known as the Wide Plain. It was heavily timbered towards one end, where the river formed its boundary, but towards the end at which they entered was almost cleared, only a few logs lying here and there, and occasionally a tall dead tree.
 
“What a place for a gallop⁶⁰!” said Harry. His quiet face was flushed and his eyes sparkling.
 
“Look at old Harry!” jeered⁶¹ Wally. “He's quite excited. Does your mother know you're out, Hal?”
 
“I'll punch you, young Wally,” retorted Harry. “Just you be civil. But isn't it a splendid place? Why, there's a clear run for a mile, I should say.”
 
“More than that,” Jim answered. “We've often raced here.”
 
“Oh!” Norah's eyes fairly danced. “Let's have a race now!”
 
“Noble idea!” exclaimed Wally.
 
“Well, it'll have to be a handicap to make it fair,” Jim said. “If we start level, Norah's pony⁶² can beat any of the others, and I think Mick can beat the other two. At any rate we'll give you fellows a start, and Norah must give me one.”
 
“I don't care,” Norah said gleefully, digging her heel into Bobs, with the result that that animal suddenly executed a bound in mid-air. “Steady, you duffer; I didn't mean any offence, Bobsie dear,” She patted his neck.
 
“I should think you wouldn't care,” Jim said. “Best pony and lightest weight! You ought to be able to leave any of us miles behind, so we'll give you a beautiful handicap, young woman!”
 
“Where's the winning post?” Harry asked.
 
“See that big black tree—the one just near the boundary fence, I mean? It's a few chains from the fence, really. We'll finish there,” Jim replied.
 
“Come on, then,” said Norah, impatiently. “Get on ahead, Harry and Wally; you'll have to sing out 'Go!' Jim, and sing it out loud, 'cause we'll be ever so far apart.”
 
“Right oh!” Jim said. “Harry, clear on a good way; you're the heaviest. Pull up when I tell you; you too, Wal.” He watched the two boys ride on slowly, and sang out to them to stop when he considered they had received a fair start. Then he rode on himself until he was midway between Wally and Norah, Harry some distance ahead of the former. The ponies had an inkling of what was in the wind, and were dancing with impatience⁶³.
 
“Now then, Norah,”—Jim flung a laughing look over his shoulder—“no cribbing there!”
 
“I'm not!” came an indignant voice.
 
“All right—don't! Ready every one? Then—go!” As the word “Go” left Jim's lips the four ponies sprang forward sharply, and a moment later were in full gallop over the soft springy turf. It was an ideal place for a race—clear ground, covered with short soft grass, well eaten off by the sheep—no trees to bar the way, and over all a sky of the brightest blue, flecked by tiny, fleecy cloudlets.
 
They tore over the paddock, shouting at the ponies laughing, hurling⁶⁴ defiance⁶⁵ at each other. At first Harry kept his lead; but weight will tell, and presently Wally was almost level with him, with Jim not far behind. Bobs had not gone too well at first—he was too excited to get thoroughly⁶⁶ into his stride, and had spent his time in dancing when he should have been making up his handicap.
 
When, however, he did condescend⁶⁷ to gallop, the distance that separated him from the other ponies was rapidly overhauled⁶⁸. Norah, leaning forward in her stirrups, her face alight with eagerness, urged him on with voice and hand—she rarely, if ever touched him with a whip at any time. Quickly she gained on the others; now Harry was caught and passed, even as Jim caught Wally and deprived him of the lead he had gaily⁶⁹ held for some time. Wally shouted laughing abuse at him, flogging his pony on the while.
 
Now Norah was neck and neck with Wally, and slowly she drew past him and set sail after Jim. That she could beat him she knew very well, but the question was, was there time to catch him? The big tree which formed the winning post was very near now. “Scoot, Bobsie, dear!” whispered Norah unconscious of the fact that she was saying anything unmaidenly. At any rate, Bobs understood, for he went forward with a bound. They were nearly level with Jim now—Wally, desperately⁷⁰ flogging, close in the rear.
 
At that moment Jim's pony put his foot into a hole, and went down like a shot rabbit, bowling⁷¹ over and over, Jim flung like a stone out of a catapult, landed some distance ahead of the pony. He, too, rolled for a moment, and then lay still.
 
It seemed to Norah that she pulled Bobs up almost in his stride. Certainly she was off before he had fairly slackened to a walk, throwing herself wildly from the saddle. She tore up to Jim—Jim, who lay horribly still.
 
“Jim—dear Jim!” she cried. She took his head on her knee. “Jim—oh, Jim, do speak to me!”
 
There was no sound. The boy lay motionless, his tanned face strangely white. Harry, coming up, jumped off, and ran to his side.
 
“Is he hurt much?”
 
“I don't know—no, don't you say he's hurt much—he couldn't be, in such a second! Jim—dear—speak, old chap!” A big sob⁷² rose in her throat, and choked her at the heavy silence. Harry took Jim's wrist in his hand, and felt with fumbling⁷³ fingers for the pulse. Wally, having pulled his pony up with difficulty, came tearing back to the little group.
 
“Is he killed?” he whispered, awestruck.
 
A little shiver ran through Jim's body. Slowly he opened his eyes, and stretched himself.
 
“What's up?” he said weakly. “Oh, I know.... Mick?”
 
“He's all right, darling,” Norah said, with a quivering voice. “Are you hurt much?”
 
“Bit of a bump on my head,” Jim said, struggling to a sitting position. He rubbed his forehead. “What's up, Norah?” For the brown head had gone down on his knee and the shoulders were shaking.
 
Jim patted her head very gently.
 
“You dear old duffer,” he said tenderly.