a lot of
working-out, of course: but there will be plenty of time for that. I
would like to make it as nearly self-supporting as possible, so that
there would be no idea of charity about it."

"A kind of colony," said Wally.

"Yes. It ought to be workable. The land is good, and with
poultry-farming, and gardening, and intensive culture, it should pay
well enough. We'll get all sorts of expert advice, Norah, and plan
the thing thoroughly."

"And we'll call it 'The O'Neill Colony,' or something like that," said
Norah, her eyes shining. "I'd like it to carry on Sir John's name,
wouldn't you, Dad?"

"Indeed, yes," said David Linton. "It has some sort of quiet,
inoffensive name already, by the way--yes, Homewood."

"Well, that sounds nice and restful," said Jim. "Sort of name you'd
like to think of in the trenches. When do we go to see it, Dad?"

"The lawyers have written to ask the tenants what day will suit them,"
said his father. "They're an old Indian Army officer and his wife, I
believe; General Somers. I don't suppose they will raise any
objection to our seeing the house. By the way, there is another
important thing: there's a motor and some vehicles and horses, and a
few cows, that go with the place. O'Neill used to like to have it
ready to go to at any time, no matter how unexpectedly. It was only
when War work claimed him that he let it to these people. He was
unusually well-off for an Irish landowner; it seems that his father
made a heap of money on the Stock Exchange."

"Horses!" said Norah blissfully.

"And a motor."

"That will be handy for bringing the Tired People from the station,"
said she. "Horses that one could ride, I wonder, Daddy?"

"I shouldn't be surprised," said her father, laughing. "Anyhow, I
daresay you will ride them."

"I'll try," said Norah modestly. "It sounds too good to be true. Can
I run the fowls, Daddy? I'd like that job."

"Yes, you can be poultry-expert," said Mr. Linton. "As for me, I
shall control the pigs."

"You won't be allowed to," said Wally. "You'll find a cold, proud
steward, or bailiff, or head-keeper or something, who would die of
apoplexy if either of you did anything so lowering. You may be
allowed to ride, Norah, but it won't be an Australian scurry--you'll
have to be awfully prim and proper, and have a groom trotting behind
you. With a top-hat." He beamed upon her cheerfully.

"Me!" said Norah, aghast. "Wally, don't talk of such