ce they had been away, and some had played before the King
himself; but no music had ever gripped at their heartstrings like the
music of the little backblocks band that stood on the gravelled platform
of Cunjee and played to welcome them home.

Suddenly, as they stood bewildered, there seemed people all round them;
kindly, homely faces, gripping their hands, shouting greetings. Evans,
the manager of Billabong, showed a delighted face for a moment, said,
"Luggage in the van. I'll see to it; don't you bother," and was gone.
Little Dr. Anderson and his wife, friends of long years, were trying to
shake hands with all four at once. They were the centre of an excited
little crowd--and found it hard to believe that it was really for them.
The train roared away, unnoticed, and the station-master and the porter
ran up to add their voices to the chorus. Somehow they were outside the
station, gently propelled; and there was a great arch of gum leaves,
with a huge WELCOME in red letters, and beneath it were the shire
president and his councillors, and other weighty men, all with speeches
ready. But the speeches did not come to much, for the shire president
had lads himself who had gone to the war, and a lump came in his throat
as he looked at the tall boys from Billabong, whom he had known as
little children; so that half the fine things he had prepared were never
said--which did not matter, since he had it all written out and gave
it to the reporter of the local paper afterwards! Something of
speech-making there undoubtedly was, but no one could have told you much
about it--and suddenly it ended in some one calling for "Three cheers!"
which every one gave with a will, while the band played that they were
Jolly Good Fellows--and some of the band cheered while they played, with
very curious results. Then David Linton tried to speak, and that was a
failure also, as far as eloquence went; but nobody seemed to mind. So,
between hand grips and cheers, they made their way through the welcome
of Cunjee to where the big double buggy of Billabong stood, with three
fidgeting brown horses, each held by a volunteer. Beyond that was the
carry-all of the bush; an express wagon, with a grinning black boy at
the horses' heads--and Norah went to him with outstretched hands.

"Why, Billy!" she said.

Billy's grin expanded in a perfectly reckless fashion.

"Plenty glad!" he stammered--and thereby doubled his usual output of
words.

Willing hand