"Oh, Nealie, it is a most beautiful ship, and bigger than Bodstead Church!" cried Ducky, rushing up to her eldest sister and flinging herself into the arms held out to her. She and Sylvia had rushed below to find their berths, while Nealie was still standing on deck by the side of Mr. Runciman, who had himself escorted them to London to see them safely on board the big liner which was to take them to Sydney.

Events had marched so fast in the last fortnight that sometimes Nealie had wondered if she were really dreaming. For the first time in her life she was realizing what a lot of things money can do. Mr. Runciman had told her that Aunt Judith had left a little money to be used for the benefit of the seven. He had not told her how much it was, but had merely said it would be enough to cover the cost of their journey, and so they could start as soon as they pleased. And because of the fear there was in her heart lest her father should send word they were not to come, she had declared that she was ready to set off as soon as berths could be secured for them.

Perhaps Mr. Runciman was also afraid that Dr. Plumstead would cable that they were not to come, for he certainly spared neither time nor money to facilitate their going, using so much energy in the preparations that his servants were about equally divided in calling him hard names for his eagerness to rid himself of a heavy burden and in praising his generosity in making the way so easy for the seven to go to their father.

Just at the last it had been quite hard to say goodbye to the old home at Beechleigh and all the people they had known there. So standing on the deck of the ocean-going liner Nealie was thankful that it was all over, and that at last she was free from the necessity to say any more goodbyes. Any more save one, that is, for there was still the farewell to Mr. Runciman to be faced, and she was dreading this with a very real shrinking as she stood so quietly by his side, while the others ran up and down exploring their new quarters and exclaiming in delight at the bustle and novelty all around them.

"Now mind, Cornelia, if when you land at Sydney you find that you have not sufficient money, you must not hesitate to cable to me, and I shall be most willing to cable you back what you may require," said Mr. Runciman impressively, and because of the kindness in his tone Nealie forgave him calling her Cornelia.

"Thank you very much, but I am sure that we ought not to need any more, and I will be very, very careful not to waste our funds," she said, smiling up at him, but her lips quivered a little in spite of her determination to maintain a Spartan-like control of her emotions.

"Money melts when you are travelling, and you are all such babies in the matter of finance. Let me see what I have in my pocket," he said, thrusting his hand in and tugging out a bulky purse from some mysterious inner depths. "Three, five, seven, ten. Yes, I can let you have ten pounds. Put it in your pocket and say nothing about it. If you do not need it for your journey you can keep it as a little gift from me and spend it for your own pleasure."

"You are so very kind, I cannot think what we should have done without you in getting away; you seem to have forgotten nothing, and I am sure that Father will be most grateful to you," she said, looking at him with so much trust and affection in her eyes that his conscience pricked him dreadfully for what he knew to be his selfish eagerness to shift a heavy burden on to the shoulders of someone else.

"It is no great virtue to be kind to you, child; indeed it would be a hard heart that would be anything else," he said in a deeply moved tone; and because the bell began to ring then, in warning to people to leave the ship, he took both her hands in his, and, leaning down, kissed her on the forehead; then with a nod in the direction of the others, who at the sound of the bell had gathered round to bid him a civil goodbye, he disappeared down the gangway and was lost to view in the crowd.

"The old chappy cut up quite decent at the last. I expect it was that little poem of mine which fetched him," said Rumple, who was strutting round like a peacock in a new suit of clothes and feeling himself someone of importance.

"Hush, dear, don't call him names, I do not like it," said Nealie with gentle dignity, while she struggled with her tears.

"Are you crying over saying goodbye to Mr. Runciman?" asked Sylvia in a wondering tone. "I thought we all made up our minds ages ago that he was really an unmitigated nuisance?"

"We have had to suspend judgment a bit of late in his direction," put in Rupert, coming to the rescue, for he guessed that Nealie did not want to talk just then, not even in defence of Mr. Runciman.

"I think there is more in him than we know," said Rumple in a patronizing tone. "At any rate he had the sense to like my verses, and that shows that he is not altogether callous; he even said that it was clever of me to find such a nice rhyme for Runciman."

"How does that first line go?" asked Rupert, still intent on shielding Nealie, who had walked to the side, and, with tear-blinded eyes, was watching the gangways being lifted.

Rumple instantly struck an attitude, screwed his face into what he called an intense expression, and, waving one arm like a semaphore, declaimed in loud, clear tones:

"Oh, Runciman, dear Runciman,
You've proved yourself a gentleman,
Both in pocket and in sense,
For your care to send us hence;
And we join in three times three,
May your shadow ne'er less be."

"Hip, hip, hooray!" yelled Billykins, waving his cap; then Don and Ducky cheered lustily also, and the sound of the jubilant shouting reached the ears of Mr. Runciman as he stood on the shore and watched the big ship glide slowly from the land.

Nealie went down to the cabin then, meaning to have a hearty good cry by way of relieving her feelings; but Ducky ran down with her to show her how delightfully cosy their quarters were, and there was so much to be seen and admired on every hand that, on second thoughts, Nealie decided to let the crying stand over until she went to bed, by which time she was so sleepy that she entirely forgot about it.

By the kindness of Mr. Runciman the three girls had a four-berth cabin to themselves; for, realizing how trying it would be for them to have a stranger thrust in among them, he had paid the extra so that they might be undisturbed. The four boys had also a four-berth cabin, which opened a little farther along the lower deck; so they were all quite near together, and speedily made themselves at home.

Don and Billykins made up their minds to be sailors long before they were out of the Thames, and although they changed their minds when they got a terrific tossing in the Bay of Biscay, their bearing was strictly nautical right through the voyage.

Rupert and Sylvia were the only two who did not suffer from seasickness, but, as Sylvia remarked, it was not all fun being immune, because they had such hard work in waiting upon the others. However, the end of the week found them all upon their feet again, and very much disposed to enjoy the novelty of life at sea.

Nealie and Don sang duets, to which Rupert played accompaniments on the banjo, while Ducky and Billykins led the applause, and Sylvia posed as audience, aping the languid, bored look of a fine lady at a concert with such inimitable mimicry that she came in for nearly as much applause as the proper performers from such of the other passengers as gathered round to hear.

Then Rumple would do his share towards entertaining the company by declaiming his own poetry, and he was so funny to look at when he stood on one foot, with his face screwed into puckers, and his arms waving wildly above his head, that his performance used to evoke shouts of laughter.

"I can't think what makes the silly goats guffaw at such a rate when I recite my 'Ode to a Dying Sparrow'," he said in a petulant tone to Nealie, one day when his audience had been more than usually convulsed. "It must be shocking bad form to double up in public as they did; a photograph of them would have served as an up-to-date advertisement of the latest thing in gramaphones, and when I came to that touching line, about the poor bird sighing out its last feeble chirp ere it closed its eyes and died, those two very fat women simply howled."

"Dear, they could not help it, you did look so funny, and—I don't think that dying birds sigh, at least I never heard them, and I have seen quite a lot of Mrs. Puffin's chickens die," replied Nealie, who was struggling with her own laughter at the remembrance of the comic attitude which Rumple had struck. He was a queer-looking boy at the best, and then he always went in for the most extraordinary gestures, so it was not wonderful that people found food for mirth in watching him.

"I shall not go in for pathetic poetry with an audience who cannot appreciate fine shades of feeling," he said in a disgusted fashion. "I will just get away by myself and throw a few thoughts together which may prove suitable to their intelligence."

"That would be a good idea," said Nealie in a rather choky voice, and then, when he had gone, she put her head down on her hands, laughing and laughing, until someone touched her shoulder, to ask her in kindly pity what she was crying for.

That was really the last straw, and Nealie gurgled and choked as if she were going to have a very bad fit of hysterics, which made the sympathizer—a kind-looking elderly man—still more concerned on her account.

"My dear, shall I call the stewardess, or one of your friends, to help you?" he asked, with so much anxiety on her account that Nealie was instantly sobered, and proceeded to explain the situation.

"You see, Rumple, that is my brother, always does take himself and his poetry so seriously; but the worst of it is that everyone who hears him recite his own things fancies it is the latest idea in comedy, and they laugh accordingly."

"And I have been watching you for the last five minutes, until I could no longer bear to see you, as I thought, in such trouble, and that was why I spoke to you," the gentleman said, scarcely able to make up his mind whether he was vexed with her for having so innocently deceived him, or whether he was only relieved to find himself mistaken.

"You must think us all very foolish and childish, I am afraid," Nealie murmured in apology. "But the children must have amusement, and we are always interested in what we can each do. Some of Rumple's verses are quite nice, although, of course, others are pure nonsense."

"Just so, just so; young folks must have something to amuse them, and it is very much to the credit of you all that you are so thoroughly amused by it, and I do not remember that I have ever heard you quarrel since you came on board," the gentleman said in a musing tone.

"We do not quarrel," rejoined Nealie with quite crushing dignity, for really the idea sounded almost insulting in her ears.

"Then you as a family must be the eighth wonder of the world, I should think, for I never heard of a family yet who did not have an occasional row," he said in an amused tone.

"Oh, but we are different; and besides we only have each other, and so we cannot afford to disagree," she replied earnestly.

"Are you orphans, and going to Australia alone?" he asked in great surprise.

"Oh no, we are not orphans; that is, our father is living in New South Wales, and we are going out to him, but we have not seen him for seven years. Indeed, Ducky, that is my youngest sister, may be said not to have seen him at all, as she was only four weeks old when he went away; the little boys do not remember him very well either. But Rupert, Sylvia, and I can remember him perfectly," replied Nealie.

"It is certain that he will not know you if he has not seen you for seven years," said the gentleman; and then he asked, with a great deal of interest in his tone: "and are you travelling all that distance without a chaperon of any sort?"

"I have my brothers, and I do not need anyone else," she answered, looking up at him in surprise at his question. "I have always had to take care of myself, for our great-aunt, with whom we lived, was very old and feeble; for two years before she died she did not leave her room, so it would not have done for me to require taking care of, seeing that it was not possible for anyone to spare time to look after me."

"I think that you must be a very remarkable young lady, for I thought that all girls required someone to take care of them, unless they were colonials that is, and you are not that," he said, in the manner of one who seeks information.

"No, we are only going to be," she said, with a happy little laugh, for it was fine to have achieved one's heart's desire with so little delay in the getting, and she was setting her face towards the new and untried life with radiant happiness in her heart.

"I am going to Cape Town, so I shall have to say goodbye to you when your voyage is only half done, although it would have been a great pleasure to me to have seen you safely ashore and in the care of your father. Does he meet you in Sydney?" asked the gentleman, when he had told Nealie that his name was Melrose, and that he was at the bottom as English as she was herself.

"I don't know; I suppose he will, for Mr. Runciman would have written to tell him the name of the ship we were coming by," said Nealie; but now there was a dubious note in her tone, for she was trying to remember whether Mr. Runciman had said anything about having written to her father. She had thought of writing herself, but had refrained from doing it because of the feeling of hurt pride which was still strong upon her, as it had been ever since she read the letter which was not meant for her.

"What will you do if he does not?" asked Mr. Melrose.

"Oh, we shall find our way out to Hammerville! That is the name of the place where he lives. There are seven of us, you see; it is not as if we were just one or two," she answered brightly.

"Hammerville? I wonder whether that is the Hammerville in the Murrumbidgee district, where Tom Fletcher went to live?" said Mr. Melrose in a musing fashion. "They have a little way of repeating names in these colonial places which is rather distracting. But Fletcher told me that the Hammerville to which he went was nearly three hundred miles from Sydney."

"I suppose there is a railway?" queried Nealie, knitting her brows, and wondering how they were all to be transported for three hundred miles across an unknown country, in the event of there being no railway by which they could travel.

"I suppose the rail would go a point nearer than three hundred miles, unless indeed the place is quite at the back of beyond, as some of those Australian towns are," replied Mr. Melrose. "But Fletcher told me that he hired a horse and wagon and drove the whole distance, sleeping in the wagon at night to save hotel charges."

"Oh, what a perfectly charming thing to do!" cried Sylvia, who had come up behind and was leaning over the back of Nealie's chair. "If Father is not waiting to meet us when we reach Sydney, shall we hire a horse and a wagon and drive out to Hammerville, Nealie?"

"It would be very jolly," said Nealie, with shining eyes. "I have always longed to go caravanning, but I expect the difficulty would be to find anyone willing to hire a horse and wagon to entire strangers like ourselves; and if Hammerville is so far from Sydney, Father would hardly be known so far away, even though he is a doctor."

"Did you say your father is a doctor?" asked Mr. Melrose, who was very much interested in this adventurous family, who seemed so well able to take care of themselves, and were roaming about the world without even the pretence of a guardian to look after them.

"Yes; he is Dr. Plumstead. Have you heard of him?" asked Sylvia, with the happy belief in her father's greatness which was characteristic of them all.

"I used to know a Dr. Plumstead some years ago, but I do not expect it was the same," said Mr. Melrose, looking as if he were going to say something more, and then suddenly changing his mind.

It was some days later, and they were nearing Cape Town, which was the halfway house of their journey, when Mr. Melrose, who had been keeping his cabin from illness, appeared again on deck, and, seeking Nealie out, laid an addressed envelope in her hand.

"It is the privilege of friends to help each other," he said quietly. "I know a man in Sydney who lets horses and wagons on hire, and I have ventured to give you a letter to him from myself, so that you may have no difficulty in hiring a conveyance for the journey to Hammerville if your father does not meet you."

"How very kind you are!" exclaimed Nealie.

He waved an impatient hand. "It is nothing, nothing. I may even be coming to New South Wales next year, if only my health is better, and then I shall do myself the pleasure of finding you out and renewing our acquaintance," he said.

"That will be very pleasant," replied Nealie, her hand closing upon the letter. "Then we can introduce you to Father, and tell him how kind you have been to us."

"We shall see; but I fancy the indebtedness is on my side," he answered, and then he turned abruptly away.

Nealie looked at him a little wistfully. He was so very friendly and kind up to a certain point; but when that was reached he was in the habit of retiring into himself, and she was left out in the cold.

"What is the matter, old girl?" asked Rupert, who came up at that moment, and noticed the cloud on Nealie's face.

"I was only thinking how much nicer it would be if we could know what was in the minds of people, and whether they were really friendly all through, or only pretending," she answered, with a sigh.

"Rather a tall order that would be," said Rupert, laughing. "Why, all the rogues would stand betrayed, and honest folk would get the credit of their good intentions. The world would be turned upside down in short!"

"I suppose it would," replied Nealie, shaking her head, and then she laughed too.