as much as we can hope for. But
you two must come to us--we can run you here and there in the car to see
the people you want." She put aside their protests, laughing. "Why, you
don't know how much we like capturing bran-new English people--and think
what you have done for our boys all these four years! From what they
tell us, if anyone wants to go anywhere or do anything he likes in
England, all he has to do is to wear a digger's slouched hat!"

They stopped in Collins Street, and in a moment the new-comers, slightly
bewildered, found themselves in a tea-room; a new thing in tea-rooms
to Tommy and Bob, since it was a vision of russet and gold--brown wood,
masses of golden wattle and daffodils, and of bronze gum leaves; and
even the waitresses flitted about in russet-brown dresses. David Linton
hung back at the doorway.

"It isn't a party, Winifred?"

"My dear David, only a few people who want to welcome you back. Really,
you're just as bad as ever!" said his sister-in-law, half vexed. "The
children's school friends, too--Jim and Wally's mates. You can't expect
us to get you all back, after so long--and with all those honours,
too!--and not give people a chance of shaking hands with you." At which
point Norah said, gently, but firmly, "Dad, you mustn't be naughty," and
led him within.

Some one grasped his hand. "Well, Linton, old chap!" And he found
himself greeting the head of a big "stock and station" firm. Some one
else clapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to meet his banker;
behind them towered half a dozen old squatter friends, with fellow
clubmen, all trying at once to get hold of his hand. David Linton's
constitutional shyness melted in the heartiness of their greeting.
Beyond them Norah seemed to be the centre of a mass of girls, one of
whom presently detached herself, and came to him. He said in amazement,
"Why, it's Jean Yorke--and grown up!" and actually kissed her, to the
great delight of Jean, who had been an old mate of Norah's. As for Jim
and Wally, they were scarcely to be seen, save for their heads, in
a cluster of lads, who were pounding and smiting them wherever space
permitted. Altogether, it was a confused and cheerful gathering, and,
much to the embarrassment of the russet-brown waitresses, the last thing
anybody thought of was tea.

Still, when the buzz of greetings had subsided, and at length "morning
tea"--that time-honoured institution of Australia--had a chance to
appear, it was of