ed up from under his
soft slouch hat with a laugh, and exclaimed,--

"What has come, you outrageously noisy youngsters? One would think
I had a family of dingoes, to hear you."

Then another head appeared over the railings--a gentle-faced,
fair-haired woman looked down.

"It is the parcel from home, Jack," she said. "Hadji brought it up
an hour ago."

"Yes, yes, father; it is the parcel from England at last, and
mother wouldn't open it till you came, so we have been waiting a
whole hour--the longest hour I have ever lived."

Nesta Orban, to whom one of the first heads over the railing
belonged, shook back her masses of fair, fluffy hair with an
impatient little toss.

"Stuff, Nesta; you always say that," exclaimed Eustace, her twin of
fourteen. "You said it yesterday coming through the scrub because
you were tired; and the day before when mother made you sew for an
hour instead of reading; and the day before--"

"Oh, shut up!" Nesta retorted. "You needn't quote pages from my
biography like that. Let's think about the parcel.--Hurry up, dad,
darling."

This last she called after her father, for Mr. Orban had not stayed
a second after his wife's explanation of the excitement.

"The parcel from home," he repeated, all the laughter dying out of
his face, and he spurred his horse into a trot round the house
towards the stable.

The heads all came back into the veranda, and there fell a hush of
expectancy as every one listened for Mr. Orban's footsteps coming
up through the house.

"La, la, la! look, Nesta. Dolly downside up; Becky done it," piped
a little voice from the floor.

"Oh, do be quiet, Becky. Think about the parcel from England.
Perhaps there is something in it for you," said Nesta.

Mrs. Orban had seated herself again in a low wicker chair, and was
busy sewing--patching a well-worn shirt with utmost patience.

"Don't be cross with Becky," she said gently. "She can't be
expected at two years old to realize the meaning of a parcel from
home. I don't believe you do yourself, Nesta. It is just a lot of
nice things from England to you--only to father and me is it 'a
parcel from home.'"

Nesta flushed a little and looked grave as she stood by the table
fingering the string of the wonderful parcel. Such a lot of string
there was, and so much sewing and writing! Whatever it might
contain, at least the parcel looked interesting.

The owner of the third head that had looked over the veranda
railing t