me, 'twasn't my fault," a tangle
of dark curls rose before him, just as they had lain that night when
he had not dared to move his eyes away from them.

Baby's legs engrossed her very much at present, for she had just
been promoted from socks to stockings, and all who remember the
occasion in their own lives will realize the importance of it to her.

Nell seemed to grow prettier every day. Pip had his hands full with
trying to keep her from growing conceited; if brotherly rubs and
snubs availed anything, she ought to have been as lowly minded as
if she had had red hair and a nose of heavenward bent.

Esther said she wished she could buy a few extra years, a stern
brow, and dignity in large quantities from some place or other--there
might be some chance, then, of Misrule resuming its baptismal
and unexciting name of The River House.

But, oddly enough, no one echoed the wish.

The Captain never smoked at the end of the side veranda now:
the ill-kept lawn made him see always a little figure in a pink
frock and battered hat mowing the grass in a blaze of sunlight.
Judy's death made his six living children dearer to his heart,
though he showed his affection very little more.

The General grew chubbier and more adorable every day he lived.
It is no exaggeration to say that they all worshipped him now
in his little kingly babyhood, for the dear life had been twice
given, and the second time it was Judy's gift, and priceless
therefore.

My pen has been moving heavily, slowly, for these last two
chapters; it refuses to run lightly, freely again just yet,
so I will lay it aside, or I shall sadden you.

Some day, if you would care to hear it, I should like to tell
you of my young Australians again, slipping a little space
of years.

Until then, farewell and adieu.

End of Project Gutenberg's Seven Little Australians, by Ethel Sybil Turner

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