about her eyes. He suspected her
gaiety to be only put on for their amusement, and he felt sorrier
and sorrier for her.

But a good night's rest did wonders for both children, and they
came in to breakfast in better humours. Nesta forgot to be tragic
when she heard her father and mother discussing what material
should be brought from Brisbane for the girls' new dresses. New
clothes were a rare event for the Orban children, and always caused
a good deal of excitement.

Eustace had been up early, and everything looked so calm, peaceful,
and ordinary about the place that he was inclined to be more than
half ashamed of his outburst the day before. "After all," he
argued, "nothing ever has happened to us--why should it now? The
black-fellows have never come this way. Why should they, just
because father is away? How could they get to know of his going?
Besides, the plantation isn't so awfully far off."

He had stood on the veranda and stared down at the sugar mill lying
at the foot of the hill, where Robertson and Farley lived; at Mr.
Ashton's house, and all the familiar, odd-shaped huts in which the
coolies lived. It was all just as he had seen it every day of his
life, and nothing had ever happened--why, indeed, should it now?

Mrs. Orban's interest in the new dresses was certainly not
feigned.

"Now, Jack," she was saying as Eustace entered the room,
"don't--don't go and ask for dusters. It is that pretty pink and
blue check zephyr I want--pink for Becky, and blue for Nesta."

"Well, dear, you must confess it is just like duster stuff--now,
isn't it?" demanded Mr. Orban with a laugh.

"O daddy, not a bit!" Nesta exclaimed. "What a horrid thought!"

"Some of mother's dusters are very pretty, young woman," said her
father. "I wouldn't mind having shirts made of them myself."

"I should object very much," Mrs. Orban said with a laugh; "you
would look like a coolie. But let us talk sense again."

Talking sense meant talking business, which on this occasion was
the making out of a list of really rather dull things wanted in the
house.

Daily life begins early on a sugar plantation. It was now only
half-past six, and the house had been astir since half-past four;
the children playing, Mrs. Orban working about the house, and Mr.
Orban away down on the plantation. The comparative cool of the
morning was the best time for any sort of activity. Later, as the
fierce December sun rose higher, even the children became