----"

"What on earth----?" said Jim.

"I really don't know," said his father. "But I suppose it means you
can turn taps without fear of a drought, or they wouldn't put it.
Grounds including shady old-world gardens, walled kitchen garden,
stone-flagged terrace, lily pond, excellent pasture. Squash racquet
court."

"What's that?" asked Norah.

"You play it with pumpkins," came, muffled, from beneath Jim. "Let me
up, Jimmy--I'll be good."

"That'll be something unusual," said Jim, rising. "Yes, Dad?"

"Stabling, heated garage, thatched cottage. Fine timber. Two of the
farms let on long leases; one lease expires with lease of house. All
in excellent order. I think that's about all. So there you are,
Norah. And what are you going to do with it?"

It was the next morning, and the treacherous September sunshine had
vanished, giving place to a cold, wet drizzle, which blurred the
windows of the Lintons' flat in South Kensington. Looking down,
nothing was to be seen but a few mackintoshed pedestrians, splashing
dismally along the wet, grey street. Across the road the trees in a
little, fenced square were already getting shabby, and a few leaves
fluttered idly down. The brief, gay English summer had gone; already
the grey heralds of the sky sounded the approach of winter, long and
cold and gloomy.

"I've been thinking terribly hard," Norah said. "I don't think I ever
lay awake so long in my life. But I can't make up my mind. Of course
it must be some way of helping the War. But how? We couldn't make it
a hospital, could we?"

"I think not," said her father. "The hospital idea occurred to me,
but I don't think it would do. You see you'd need nurses and a big
staff, and doctors; and already that kind of thing is organized.
People well established might do it, but not lone Australians like you
and me, Norah."

"How about a convalescent home?"

"Well, the same thing applies, in a less degree. I believe, too, that
they are all under Government supervision, and I must admit I've no
hankering after that. We wouldn't be able to call our souls our own;
and we'd be perpetually irritated by Government under-strappers,
interfering with us and giving orders--no, I don't think we could
stand it. You and I have always run our own show, haven't we,
Norah--that is, until Jim came back to boss us!" He smiled at his
tall son.

There was a pause.

"Well, Dad--you always have ideas," said Norah, in the voic