Back to Billabong

"Do the beastly old map yourself, if you want it. I shan't, anyhow!" "Wilfred!" "Aw, Wil-fred!" The boy at the end of the schoolroom table, red-haired, snub-nosed and defiant, mimicked the protesting tone. "I've done it once, and I'm blessed if I do it again." "No one would dream that it was ever meant for Africa." The young teacher glanced at the scrawled and blotted map before her. "It-it doesn't look like anything earthly. You must do it again, Wilfred." "Don't you, Wilf." Wilfred's sister leaned back in her chair, tilting it on its hind legs. "You have nothing to do with Wilfred's work, Avice. Go on with your French." "Done it, thanks," said Avice. "And I suppose I can speak to my own brother if I like." "No, you can't-in lesson time," said the teacher. "Who's going to stop me?" Cecilia Rainham controlled herself with an effort.