armed game, and was
extremely interested in his own progress. It was the day for posting
to Australia, and there was a long letter to Brownie to be finished,
and one to Jean Yorke, her chum in Melbourne. Already it was late; in
the study, her father had been deep in his letters for over an hour.

But as she came up to the porch she saw him in the hall.

"Oh--Norah," he said with relief. "I've been looking for you. Here's
a letter from Harry Trevor, of all people!"

"Harry!" said Norah delightedly. "Oh, I'm so glad! Where is he,
Dad?"

"He's in London--this letter has been wandering round after us. We
ought to have had it days ago. Harry has a commission now--got it on
the field, in Gallipoli, more power to him: and he's been wounded and
sent to England. But he says he's all right."

"Oh, won't Jim and Wally be glad!" Harry Trevor was an old
school-fellow whom Fate had taken to Western Australia; it was years
since they had met.

"He has two other fellows with him, he says; and he doesn't know any
one in London, nor do they. His one idea seems to be to see us. What
are we to do, Norah? Can we have them here?"

"Why we _must_ have them," Norah said. She made a swift mental
calculation. "Yes--we can manage it."

"You're sure," asked her father, evidently relieved. "I was afraid it
might be too much for the house; and I would be very sorry to put them
off."

"Put off Australians, even if one of them wasn't Harry!" ejaculated
Norah. "We couldn't do it! How will you get them, Dad?"

"I'll telephone to their hotel at once," said her father. "Shall I
tell them to come to-day?"

"Oh, yes. You can arrange the train, Dad. Now I'll go and see Mrs.
Atkins."

"'Tis yourself has great courage entirely," said her father, looking
at her respectfully. "I'd rather tackle a wild buffalo!"

"I'm not sure that I wouldn't," returned Norah. "However, she's all
the buffalo I've got, so I may as well get it over." She turned as
she reached the door. "Tell old Harry how glad we are, Dad. And
don't you think you ought to let Jim know?"

"Yes--I'll ring him up too." And off went Norah, singing. Three
Australians--in "dear little Surrey!" It was almost too good to be
true.

But Mrs. Atkins did not think so. She was sorting linen, with a sour
face, when Norah entered her sanctum and made known her news. The
housekeeper remained silent for a moment.

"Well, I don't see how we're to manage, miss," sh