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59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page v

Beginning
Web Programming with
HTML, XHTML, and CSS

Second Edition

Jon Duckett
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page iv
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page i

Beginning Web Programming with

HTML, XHTML, and CSS
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiii
Chapter 1: Creating Structured Documents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Chapter 2: Links and Navigation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Chapter 3: Images and Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Chapter 4: Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
Chapter 5: Forms. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Chapter 6: Frames . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
Chapter 7: Cascading Style Sheets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
Chapter 8: More Cascading Style Sheets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
Chapter 9: Page Layout . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323
Chapter 10: Design Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361
Chapter 11: Learning JavaScript. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 403
Chapter 12: Working with JavaScript . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 453
Chapter 13: Putting Your Site on the Web . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 501
Appendix A: Answers to Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 539
Appendix B: XHTML Element Reference . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 563
Appendix C: CSS Properties . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 607
Appendix D: Color Names and Values . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 637
Appendix E: Character Encodings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 645
Appendix F: Special Characters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 649
Appendix G: Language Codes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 665
Appendix H: MIME Media Types . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 669
Appendix I: Deprecated and Browser-Specific Markup. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 681
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 715
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Beginning
Web Programming with
HTML, XHTML, and CSS

Second Edition
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page iv
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page v

Beginning
Web Programming with
HTML, XHTML, and CSS

Second Edition

Jon Duckett
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page vi

Beginning Web Programming

with HTML, XHTML, and CSS, Second Edition
Published by
Wiley Publishing, Inc.
10475 Crosspoint Boulevard
Indianapolis, IN 46256
www.wiley.com
Copyright © 2008 by Wiley Publishing, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana
ISBN: 978-0-470-25931-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except as permitted
under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission
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Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: The publisher and the author make no representations or war-
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59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page vii

About the Author

Jon Duckett published his first web site in 1996 while studying for a BSc (Hons) in Psychology at Brunel
University, London. Since then, he has helped create a wide variety of web sites for companies of all
sizes. He has also co-written more than ten programming-related books on topics from ASP to XML (via
many other letters of the alphabet), covering diverse aspects of web programming including design,
architecture, and coding.

About the Technical Editor

Ben Schupak holds a master’s degree in computer science and has more than nine years of professional
programming experience for large corporations and U.S. federal departments. He lives in the New York
metro area and enjoys traveling.
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page viii
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page ix

Credits
Acquisitions Editor Vice President and Executive Group Publisher
Jennifer Watson Richard Swadley

Development Editor Vice President and Executive Publisher

William Bridges Joseph B. Wikert

Technical Editor Project Coordinator, Cover

Benjamin Schupak Lynsey Stanford

Production Editor Compositor

Christine O’Connor Simmy Cover, Happenstance Type-O-Rama

Copy Editor Proofreader

Nancy Rapoport Christopher Jones

Editorial Manager Indexer

Mary Beth Wakefield Johnna VanHoose Dinse

Production Manager
Tim Tate
59313ffirs.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:30 PM Page x
59313ftoc.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:31 PM Page xi

Contents

Introduction xxiii

Chapter 1: Creating Structured Documents 1

A Web of Structured Documents 1
Introducing XHTML 2
Core Elements and Attributes 9
The <html> Element 9
The <head> Element 10
The <title> Element 11
The <body> Element 11
Attribute Groups 12
Core Attributes 12
Internationalization 14
UI Events 15
Basic Text Formatting 16
White Space and Flow 17
Creating Headings Using hn Elements 18
Creating Paragraphs Using the <p> Element 21
Creating Line Breaks Using the <br /> Element 21
Creating Preformatted Text Using the <pre> Element 22
Presentational Elements 26
The <b> Element 26
The <i> Element 26
The <u> Element (deprecated) 27
The <s> and <strike> Elements (deprecated) 27
The <tt> Element 27
The <sup> Element 28
The <sub> Element 28
The <big> Element 28
The <small> Element 28
The <hr /> Element 28
Phrase Elements 29
The <em> Element Adds Emphasis 30
The <strong> Element Adds Strong Emphasis 30
The <abbr> Element Is for Abbreviations 31
59313ftoc.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:31 PM Page xii

Contents
The <acronym> Element Is for Acronym Use 31
The <dfn> Element Is for Special Terms 32
The <blockquote> Element Is for Quoting Text 32
The <q> Element Is for Short Quotations 33
The <cite> Element Is for Citations 33
The <code> Element Is for Code 34
The <kbd> Element Is for Text Typed on a Keyboard 34
The <var> Element Is for Programming Variables 35
The <samp> Element Is for a Program Output 35
The <address> Element Is for Addresses 36
Lists 36
Using the <ul> Element to Create Unordered Lists 36
Ordered Lists 37
Definition Lists 39
Nesting Lists 40
How It Works 43
Editing Text 45
Using <ins> to Indicate New Additions to Text 46
Using <del> to Indicate Deleted Text 46
Using Character Entities for Special Characters 47
Comments 47
The <font> Element (deprecated) 48
Understanding Block and Inline Elements 48
Grouping Elements with <div> and <span> 49
Summary 50
Exercises 51

Chapter 2: Links and Navigation 53

Basic Links 54
Linking to Other Documents 54
Linking to E-mail Addresses 56
Understanding Directories and Directory Structures 57
What Are You Linking To? 58
What a URL Is Made Up Of 59
Absolute and Relative URLs 61
The <base> Element 64
Creating Links with the <a> Element 65
Creating a Source Anchor with the href Attribute 65
Creating a Destination Anchor Using the name and id Attributes
(linking to a specific part of a page) 66

xii
59313ftoc.qxd:WroxPro 3/22/08 2:31 PM Page xiii

Contents
Advanced E-mail Links 74
Summary 75
Exercises 76

Chapter 3: Images and Objects 77

Adding Images to Your Site 77
Types of Image Formats 78
Bitmap Images 78
Vector Images 85
Adding Images Using the <img> Element 86
Adding Other Objects with the <object> Element 93
The <object> Element’s Attributes 94
The <param> Element 97
Adding a Flash Movie To A Page 98
Using Images as Links 99
Image Maps 100
Server-Side Image Maps 101
Client-Side Image Maps 102
Summary 105
Exercises 106

Chapter 4: Tables 109

Introducing Tables 109
Basic Table Elements and Attributes 112
The <table> Element Creates a Table 113
The <tr> Element Contains Table Rows 117
The <td> and <th> Elements Represent Table Cells 119
Advanced Tables 125
Splitting Up Tables Using a Head, Body, and Foot 125
Adding a <caption> to a Table 128
Spanning Columns Using the colspan Attribute 128
Spanning Rows Using the rowspan Attribute 129
Grouping Columns Using the <colgroup> Element 130
Columns Sharing Styles Using the <col> Element 132
Accessibility Issues with Tables 132
How Tables Linearize 132
Linearization of Tables Used for Layout 133
Linearization of Tables Used for Data 135
Summary 136
Exercises 136

xiii
Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Norah of
Billabong
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: Norah of Billabong

Author: Mary Grant Bruce

Illustrator: J. Macfarlane

Release date: October 7, 2019 [eBook #60446]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online

Distributed
Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NORAH OF

BILLABONG ***
 Stories by
MARY GRANT BRUCE
Large Crown 8vo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth Gilt.

POSSUM
Mrs. Bruce writes with a freedom and grace which must win hosts of readers, and there
is a lovableness about her Australian youths and maidens which makes one never tired of
their healthy and sociable views of life.

JIM AND WALLY

“There can be no doubt about the success of Miss Bruce . . . real pathos which gets
hold of the reader, and her effects are obtained in a real natural way that makes them all
the more telling. She evidently knows the up-country life . . . she grips the attention from
start to finish.”—Melbourne Argus.

A LITTLE BUSH MAID

“It is a real pleasure to recommend this story to Australian readers.”—Perth Western
Mail.

MATES AT BILLABONG
“The incidents of station life, its humours, festivities, and mishaps, are admirably
sketched in this vivid narrative.”—Adelaide Register.

TIMOTHY IN BUSHLAND
 “The writer understands all about the wonders of the Australian bush, its wild horses,
kangaroos, wombats, and infinitely various natural life.”—Daily Telegraph.

GLEN EYRE
“An admirable story, exquisitely told, full of gentle pathos, and ringing true all
through.”—The Sportsman.

NORAH OF BILLABONG
“The story is written in a refreshing and lovable manner, which makes instant
appeal.”—Manchester Courier.

GRAY’S HOLLOW
“A story always healthy and enjoyable in its sympathetic delineation of unsophisticated
nature.”—The Scotsman.

FROM BILLABONG TO LONDON

“The story has many more incidents than Mrs. Bruce’s earlier books, and though her
style is quiet and matter-of-fact, she does succeed in infusing reality into her exciting
episodes.”—The Melbourne Argus.

NORAH
OF BILLABONG
By
MARY GRANT BRUCE
Author of “A Little Bush Maid,” “Mates at Billabong,”
“Glen Eyre,” “Timothy in Bushland,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY J. MACFARLANE

W A R D , L O C K & C O ., L I M I T E D
LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO

To All the Kind People

—Little and Big—
Who asked me for “More Norah.”

M. G. B.

CONTENTS
 I Breaking Up
II Night in the City
III The Cry of the Children
IV Going Home
V Wally
VI The Cunjee Concert
VII Morning
VIII Noon
IX A Little Yellow Flame
X Midnight
XI The Battle under the Stars
XII Burnt Out
XIII Ben Athol
XIV On the Track
XV The House by Atholton
XVI Beyond the Plains
XVII The Peak of Ben Athol
XVIII The Wurley in the Rocks
XIX The Last Night
XX Down the Mountain
XXI Back to Billabong

NORAH OF BILLABONG
 CHAPTER I
BREAKING UP
When Sheelah in the morning
Comes down the way,
It needs no more adorning
To make it gay.
—Victor J. Daley.

AVERY tall boy came up the gravel path of Beresford House. It was
“breaking up” day, and an unwonted air of festivity and
smartness was evident, even to the eye of a stranger. The garden
looked as though no leaf had ever been out of place, no sacrilegious
footmark ever imprinted on the soft mould of its beds, where
masses of flowers still bade defiance to the heat of an Australian
December. The paths were newly raked; the freshly mown lawns
were carpets of emerald, soft underfoot and smooth as bowling
greens. Aloft, on the square grey tower, fluttered the school flag—a
blue banner, with a device laboriously woven by the fingers of the
sewing class, and indirectly responsible for many impositions, since it
was beyond the power of the sewing class to work with its several
heads so close together as the task demanded, and yet refrain from
talking. It was a banner of great magnificence, and the school was
justly proud of it. Only the sewing class regarded it with what might
be termed a mingled eye.
It was early afternoon—too early for guests to be seriously
thinking of arriving. A couple of motors were drawn up in the shade
of a big Moreton Bay fig; but they belonged to parents who lived at
a distance, and had come earlier in the day, to talk solemnly to the
head mistress, and then to whisk emancipated daughters away to an
hotel for lunch—which necessitated a speedy whisking back, so that
the daughters might be apparelled in white, in readiness for the
afternoon’s ceremonials. In the garden, little groups of girls might be
seen already clad in festive raiment and walking with a seemliness
that in itself showed that this day was different from all other days.
They turned interested glances upon the newcomer, who, resenting
the gaze deeply, stalked on up the path, his straw hat tilted over his
brown face. Girls in general had not come much in his way. It was
distinctly embarrassing to run the gauntlet of so many frankly
curious eyes.
“There’s some, one’s brother,” said a red-haired damsel,
surveying the stranger across a bush of New Zealand flax. “Yours,
Laura?”
“Mine?” said Laura, regretfully. “Not much—mine is fat. He’s a
dear, of course, but his figure’s something awful! I’d be frightfully
proud if he looked like that!”
“I wonder who he belongs to,” said the red-haired girl, with a
cheerful lack of grammar. “Doesn’t he look miserable—he knows
we’re talking about him!” She giggled with wicked enjoyment. The
giggle turned to a whistle. “Gracious! Just look at young Norah
Linton!”
Two younger girls, with arms linked and heads close together,
had come into view in a distant corner of the garden, walking
decorously, as befitted their white dresses. It was the taller of the
two, a brown-faced girl of fifteen, with dark curls and extremely long
slim legs, who had caught sight of the boy walking towards the
house, and had promptly acted as though electrified. She
relinquished her companion’s arms, uttered an incoherent
exclamation, and dashed wildly across the lawn, taking the flower
bed that bordered it with a flying leap. The sound of the racing feet
made the boy swing round quickly. Then a smile broadened on his
face, and his eyes twinkled. They pumped each other’s hands
enthusiastically.
“Oh, Wally!” said Norah, breathlessly. “Oh, you old brick!”
Wally Meadows laughed outright.
“You don’t know what a blue funk I’ve been in,” he said. “This is
a horribly scary place to come to alone—and I’ve been picturing you
made as prim and proper as all these girls seem to be. But you’re
not!”
“Indeed, I’m not,” Norah answered. “And no more are they!”
 “Aren’t they, really?” asked Wally, much interested. “Well, they
look it; there’s a girl over there with red hair who looks nearly too
good to be true”—wherein Mr. Meadows showed as much
penetration as is usually given to man. “You don’t mean to say that
they’re all accustomed to getting across a flower bed in your fashion,
Norah?”
“Oh, I’ll get into a dreadful row if Miss Winter happened to see
me, I expect!” Norah said. “It’s against the rules, of course—but I
had to run or to yell, or I’d have missed you—and it’s riskier to yell.
Oh, Wally, I am glad to see you!”
“So am I,” said Wally, heartily—“to see you, I mean. You’ve
grown immense, too, Norah.”
“Yes, haven’t I? All my frocks are too short, and I know Dad will
say I’ve put my feet too far through them. Oh, Wally, have you seen
Dad—and Jim?”
“Saw them yesterday. They ought to be here pretty soon—but
my brother motored me down, so I didn’t come with them. Norah—
there’s a girl looking at me, and if you don’t take her away I shall
scream!”
“Why, that’s Jean Yorke,” said Norah, wheeling. “She’s my chum,
and you’ve got to be extra nice to her, ’cause she is coming home
with me for the holidays.”
“Then she deserves any one’s kind sympathy,” said Wally,
solemnly. He advanced upon Jean with outstretched hand and a
smile that went far to put that somewhat shy individual at her ease,
while Norah murmured a haphazard introduction.
Jean was a short and rather thickset person, with blue eyes and
a freckled nose, and a square, honest face. Neither chum could have
been regarded as pretty. They were wholesome-looking girls—alike
in the trim neatness that is characteristic of the Australian schoolgirl;
and alike also in the quality of sturdy honesty that looked straight at
the world from blue eyes and grey. Jean was fair, her thick masses of
hair gathered in more tightly than Norah’s curly brown mop ever
permitted—whereat Norah was frankly envious. She was also wont
to be apologetic, because, although a year the younger, she towered
over Jean by half a head. The unfulfilled ambition of Jean’s dreams
was to be tall and slender, and Norah bore a lasting grudge against
Fate for denying so moderate a longing on her friend’s part. She
watched her anxiously for signs of growth, and at frequent intervals
measured her height, while tactfully ignoring what she herself would
have called her girth.
Across the introduction came a cold voice.
“Your brother, I presume, Norah?”
Both girls jumped.
“No—only it’s all the same, Miss Winter,” Norah explained, lucidly.
“It’s Wally Meadows—my brother’s chum.” At which Wally removed
his hat and said: “How do you do?” with such fervour that it seemed
that his peace of mind hung upon Miss Winter’s answer. That severe
person’s coldness was a trifle modified as she answered, but it was
Arctic again when she turned back to Norah.
“I saw you crossing the grass—and the flower bed!” she
remarked. “Such conduct is inexcusable, Norah—I am amazed at
you. The garden is not the hockey field, nor is the arrival of any
friend to be the signal for such conduct!”
Norah was scarlet.
“I’m awfully—I mean I am very—sorry, truly, Miss Winter!” she
said. “I forgot all about everything when I saw Wally. You see, he’s
nearly the same as Jim, and I hadn’t seen him for ten months! I
won’t do it again. And Jean never did it at all!”
“I could see that for myself,” said Miss Winter, drily—whereat
Jean became even more scarlet than Norah. “However, it is too late
in the term for impositions—which is fortunate for you!” There came
into the culprit’s eye an irrepressible twinkle, and the teacher relaxed
a little. “Ah, well—it’s nearly holiday time,” she said, smiling. “But,
Norah, dear—do remember that you are over fifteen!”
“I will, Miss Winter—I truly will,” said the criminal. “I’ll behave
beautifully—see if I don’t!——”
The iron gate clanged, and she glanced round with the quick
instinctiveness that never leaves the bush-bred. A tall man and a lad
almost as tall came into view, and at sight of them Norah’s
“behaviour” suddenly fell away from her, and with a little cry that
was half a sob, she fled to meet them. The gravel scattered under
her trim-shod feet; her long legs twinkled with amazing swiftness.
Then the big man put out his arms to her, and she flung herself into
them.
“Oh, Daddy—Daddy!” said Norah. “Oh, Jim! Oh-h!” Words failed
her.
“My girl!” said David Linton. Over her head he looked at the
teacher, and found that she was human. He smiled at her in friendly
fashion.
“We try to teach Norah deportment,” she said, greeting him, and
laughing, while big Jim hugged his sister frankly, totally unabashed
by the amused glances from various parts of the garden. “But I am
afraid the effect isn’t very evident on breaking up day!”
“I’m quite certain we’re demoralizing influences,” he told her. “But
what can you expect, from the Back of Beyond? We’ll try to make
her remember the deportment when we get her back to the station,
Miss Winter. At present, you must make allowances.”
Miss Winter thawed amazingly under the influence of the quiet
voice, deep and courteous, and the Linton smile, which was a
wonderfully pleasant one. It was very frequent upon the face of her
pupil, and had at all times a tendency to upset discipline; and now
the same smile appeared, if more rarely, on the bronzed giants,
father and son, who confronted her upon the path. They were very
alike—over six feet—Mr. Linton had yet a couple of inches to the
good, but Jim was overhauling him fast—lean and broad-shouldered,
with the same well-cut features and keen eyes. Norah said that they
had absorbed the good looks of the family, leaving her none; which
was partly true, although the remark would have moved her father
and brother to wrath. In their grey suits and Panama hats, they
were excellent specimens of long-limbed Australia, and Norah gazed
at them as though she could not take away the eyes that had been
hungry for so many long months.
It was evident that neither Jim nor his father found it easy to talk
polite nothings to Miss Winter. Their eyes kept straying to the slim
figure that was the main thing in their world—Norah, who jigged
irrepressibly on one foot and broke into sudden smiles, and forgot
altogether the discipline and deportment that had been instilled into
her during three terms at Beresford House. To put her there at all
had been a proceeding much like caging a bush bird, for, until she
was fourteen, Norah had known only home and its teachings. And
home was Billabong Station, where, apart from lessons that had
been a little patchy, she had lived her father’s life—a life of open-air,
of horses and cattle, and all the station interests. Jim had been sent
to the Grammar School in Melbourne comparatively early, and
Norah’s city relatives, particularly a number of assorted aunts, were
wont to deplore that the little girl had not had the same opportunity
of polish. But the bond between David Linton and his motherless
child had been too strong to break, and the silent man had snatched
at every pretext for delaying the pang of parting.
After all, as he told himself, half in excuse, Norah was no
discredit to home teaching. In books she might be below the
average; but of the unvoiced learning that lies beyond the world of
books she had, perhaps, rather more than falls to the ordinary
schoolgirl. A big station is a little world in itself, and the Bush
teaching makes for self-control and self-reliance, and a simple,
straight outlook on the world that is not a bad foundation of
character. Lessons in deportment and manners are not part of its
curriculum: but there are a good many ideas in thought and practice
that it cultivates half unconsciously. Norah had an almost
superstitious regard for doing what Jim termed “the decent thing.”
Moreover, her father had given her an ideal to follow. The mother
who had gone away from them so soon had never been far from his
thoughts or his slow speech: and “Brownie,” the old woman who had
taken the little dark-haired baby from her weak arms, had helped to
make the picture of “Mother” that was so real that Norah had always
known and loved it. Vaguely she knew that there was a lack in her
father’s life which she must try to fill. It had tended to make her
gentle—to bring out something that was almost protective in her
nature. There is a trace of motherliness in every girl-heart; Norah
always felt that, while Dad and Jim were very large and strong and
dependable, yet it rested with her to “look after them.” Had she put
her thoughts into words it is quite likely that the objects of her care
might have felt a shade of amusement; but as she did not, they
appreciated her attentions mightily. To them, the heart of Billabong
had dropped out when Norah went away to school.
And school had been something of a trial. Norah’s bringing-up
had been along lines where rules of conduct are understood rather
than expressed; although she was a well-behaved damsel, in her
own setting, it had not been easy to find herself suddenly hedged in
to such an extent that she lived and breathed and ate and slept by
regulation and timetable. She realized that it was necessary to
conform; but practice was a harder matter, and the time at school
had seen many “scrapes” and many impositions. Common sense and
good temper helped her through, and the appearance of Jean Yorke
upon a somewhat lonely horizon had helped in a different way. But
only Norah herself knew just how bad had been the homesickness
and the silent longing for her own old life. She knew that Dad and
Jim would be hurt by knowing, therefore she kept these matters to
herself, and diligently cultivated Jim’s prescription of “a stiff upper
lip.”
Now it was over. There would be other years; but no year could
ever be quite like the first, especially since there was now Jean to
help—Jean being a comprehending person, whose heart had gone
out to Norah since the day of her arrival at Beresford House, three
months ago. Jean came from New Zealand, and she, too, was lonely,
with the desperate loneliness born of the fact that she would not see
home or the home people for two years. When Norah contemplated
Jean’s woeful plight she was ashamed to admit that she had been
homesick on her own account. So they “twin-souled” immediately,
and made life very much easier for each other.
How this last week had crawled! Each night Norah had crossed
out the finished day upon her calendar with thick, red strokes that
were some relief to her pent-up feelings; always doing it just at the
last moment before turning out the light and jumping into bed, so
that she might have the friendly darkness to cover her as she buried
her face in the pillow, wriggling, with sheer physical inability to keep
still as she realized how near were home and Dad and Jim. Near—
but how slow the days! Examinations and matches were over, and
the work of the school slackening. She flung herself headlong into
games and “break up” preparations to make the slow hours pass,
dividing each day into hours and half hours—she even reduced them
to minutes, but the sum total looked too enormous! Her school work
was characteristic of her turmoil of mind. Once she rattled over the
provisions of Magna Charta for the Latin master with a fluency that
paralyzed the unfortunate man, who had merely asked her to decline
an inoffensive noun; while Miss Winter gave her up as hopeless on
being informed that Thomas a’Becket Archbishop of Canterbury, lost
his life by drowning in a butt of malmsey! Norah saw nothing
incongruous in the prelate’s alleged death, and spent much of the
hour’s detention that followed in drawing a spirited picture of it—
representing a large barrel, from the yawning mouth of which
protruded two corpulent legs, clad in gaiters, and immaculately
shod. The charm of the picture was in the portion of it that was not
visible. It was unfortunate that it fell into the hands of Miss Winter,
who was handicapped by a literal mind. Altogether, the last week
had been more or less exciting and painful, and it was quite as well
that it was over.
The great bell of the school rang out sharply, and a kind of white
flicker came over the garden as the girls moved quickly in answer. It
was the signal to assemble in hall. Norah exchanged looks of longing
with Jim and Wally. Then she and Jean moved off towards the
house, endeavouring to calm spasmodic footsteps.
A little later saw the three visitors making a gallant attempt to
dispose their long legs among the crowded rows of chairs reserved
for parents and “belongings,” while the boys sent rapid telegraphic
signals to Norah, by this time a mere speck amid the white-clad girls
massed upon the platform. The big hall was packed with visitors—
proud parents, each supremely confident that “our girl” was
something quite beyond the average; big sisters, anxious to create
the impression of being far removed from matters so juvenile as
school; brothers, wearing the colours of different schools, and
assuming great boredom. Then came Miss Winter, followed by
church dignitaries and other notable people, including two members
of Parliament, who behaved as though engrossed with affairs of
State; whereat the infant classes arose and sang a roundelay with
much gusto, and the business of the day began.
The Billabong contingent was not happy. It was uncomfortably
crowded; its view was obstructed by immense erections of millinery
on the heads of ladies immediately in front; frequently it was tickled
on the back of the neck by similar erections belonging to ladies who
leaned forward, from the rear, manœuvring for a better vision of the
proceedings. It was much embarrassed by the French play, acted by
the senior class—the embarrassment being chiefly due to fear of
laughing in the wrong place. Nor did lengthy recitations from
Shakespeare appeal to it greatly, or a song by the red-haired girl,
the said song being of the type known as an “aria,” and ungallantly
condemned by Jim as “screamy enough to scare cockatoos with!” It
brightened at a physical culture display, and applauded vigorously
when a curly-haired mite essayed a recitation, broke down in the
middle, and finished, not knowing whether or not to cry, until much
cheered by the friendly clapping. The moment of the programme—
for Billabong—came when Norah, very pale and unhappy, played a
Chopin nocturne. Wally joined wildly in the succeeding applause, but
Jim and his father sat up straight, endeavouring to appear
unconcerned, but radiating pride. Norah did not dare to look at them
until she was safely back in her place. Then she shot a glance at the
two tall heads; and what she saw in their faces suddenly sent the
blood leaping to her own.
Afterwards came the distribution of prizes—a matter which did
not greatly concern Norah, whose scholastic achievements could
scarcely be classed as other than ordinary. However, she had carried
off the music prize in her class—music being born within her, and,
even in lessons, only a joy. She was still flushed with excitement
when the long ceremony was at an end, and she was able to slip
from the platform and find her way to the waiting trio—standing tall
and stiff against the wall, while the crowd seethed in the body of the
hall, and other book-laden daughters were reunited to parents as
proud as David Linton.
“I’ll look after that,” Jim said, with a masterful little gesture,
possessing himself of Norah’s prize. “Well done, old chap!” He patted
her head with brotherly emphasis.
“Proud to know you, ma’am,” said Wally, humbly. “Norah, I was
nearly asleep until you came on to play!”
“And quite asleep afterwards,” grinned Jim. “Snored, Norah—I
give you my word!”
“That’s one I owe you!” said the maligned Mr. Meadows,
vengefully. “I clapped until my horny hands were sore, Norah. Made
a hideous noise!”
“Then there were two of us,” said Norah, laughing. “I never knew
old Chopin sound so funny—catch me playing before a lot of people
again! I was scared to look at old Herr Wendt. Probably he pulled
out most of his remaining locks—I know I made at least three
mistakes.”
“It sounded all right,” said her father, and smiled at her. “Now,
young woman, this is very nice, but one can have enough of it.” A
wheat-trimmed hat brushed across his face, and he emerged in
some confusion. “How soon will you two girls be ready?”
“Must we change?”
“I sincerely trust not,” said Mr. Linton, appalled at the thought of
awaiting two feminine toilettes of a greater magnificence than was
familiar to him with his daughter. “Not if you have big coats—I’ve a
motor outside. Your heavy luggage has gone, I believe.”
“Yes, it went by carrier,” said Norah, happily. “All right, Daddy,
we’ll be back in five minutes. Come on, Jean!” They disappeared, to
re-emerge presently, muffled in heavy blue coats and wearing sailor
hats. Farewells hurtled through the air.
“Good-bye, Miss Winter. Merry Christmas!”
“Good-bye, Carrots, dear!” This to the red-haired singer, who
accepted the greeting and the appellation cheerfully.
“Good-bye, young Norah. Behave yourself, if you can. But you
can’t!”
“Good-bye, Jean!”
“Good-bye, every one. Mind you all come back!”
“Good-bye!”
“Merry Christmas!”
 “Good-bye, school!” The note of utter thankfulness in Norah’s
voice brought a twinkle to Jim’s eyes.
The motor chug-chugged on the path. Norah did not like motors
—horses were infinitely better, in her opinion. But this one seemed a
chariot of joy. They bundled in, pell-mell.
“Are you all right?” queried Mr. Linton.
“I never was so all right in my life!” said Norah, fervently. The car
slid away into the dusty haze of the white road.
 CHAPTER II
NIGHT IN THE CITY
Oh, the world is wondrous fair
When the tide of life’s at flood!
There is music in the air,
There is music in the blood.
And a glamour draws us on,
To the distance, rainbow-spanned.
And the road we tread upon
Is the track to Fairyland.
—V. J. Daley.

JEAN,“Half
can you button me up?”
a minute till I get this ribbon tied,” said the lady
addressed, wrestling urgently with an obstinate bow. “There—that’s
got to do! Turn round, old girl—I can’t see. There you are.”
“Thanks,” said Norah, shaking out her skirt. “Is my hair decent?”
“Yes, it’s all right. Curly-haired people like you always look right.”
“Wish I thought so,” said the owner of the curls. “Dreadful mop, I
think. Will I do, Jean?”
“Do?” said Jean, in some bewilderment. “Why, of course—you
look all right. Why are you worrying?”
Norah reddened slightly.
“Well—I never had dinner in a big hotel like this before,” she said.
“Melbourne hotels are a bit different to the Cunjee one, I guess. And
I don’t want Dad and Jim to be ashamed of me.”
“I don’t think you need bother your head,” said the more
travelled Jean. “You look nice, truly. And I shouldn’t think your father
and Jim were very hard to please.”
“Oh, they never would say anything. But they might think—and
be disappointed if I weren’t all right. You see, it never seemed to
matter when I was only at Billabong. But after all this time at school
they’ll naturally expect me to be different.”
“And do you think you are?” queried Jean, anxiously.
 “I don’t think I am, a bit!” Norah answered. “That’s what’s
worrying me. It won’t bother me when I get home, I expect, but this
big place seems different.” She glanced round the hotel bedroom
with a quaint air of anxiety. “I feel just exactly the same as if I’d
never been at school at all.”
“Well, I believe that’s how your father’ll like you,” said Jean,
sapiently.
“And——” Norah flushed more redly, and paused.
“What?”
“Will dinner be—difficult? You know I haven’t been anywhere like
this,” said poor Norah. “Will there be lots of knives and forks and
glasses I don’t know anything about? I don’t want to make an ass of
myself, you know!”
Jean nodded comprehendingly.
“Don’t you worry,” she said. “It’s all quite easy. I stayed here with
father when he brought me over from Christchurch, you know. He
helped me a bit over ordering when the waiter came round—the
menu is rather mixed until you get used to it. You tell your father to
do the same. And I really won’t know a bit more than you, so if we
make mistakes we’ll make them together, and it won’t matter!”
“You’re a dear,” said Norah, gratefully. “I say, would you mind if I
go and find Dad now, and have a little talk to him? His room is quite
near.”
“Of course I won’t,” said her friend. “Hurry up—it’s nearly dinner
time.”
“I’ll come back for you,” Norah called, disappearing into the
corridor. She hesitated a moment in the unfamiliar place—all the
doors looked so exactly alike. Then from behind one came a line of a
song, in Jim’s deep voice, and Wally joined in:—
“So we went strolling, down by the rolling—
Down by the rolling sea!”
It made the corridor seem suddenly homelike, and Norah broke
into smiles. Beyond, her father’s number caught her eye, and she
tapped at the door.
“May I come in, Daddy?”
 “Certainly you may!” said David Linton, with somewhat startling
emphasis, mingled with relief. “And tie this blessed evening tie!” He
submitted meekly to his daughter’s ministrations. “Ridiculous!—I’m
far too old to get into these clothes!”
“You look beautiful,” said his daughter, fervently. “Daddy, will I
do?”
“Do? I should say so. That white thing looks very fine as far as
I’m a judge.”
“Then that’s all right. And, Dad——”
“Yes, my girl?”
“I’m awfully scared of dinner!” Norah confessed. “Will you keep
fierce waiters off me, Daddy? And tell me what to say I’ll have?”
David Linton looked at her and smiled with something like relief.
He sat down and drew her towards him.
“Do you know,” he said, “you’ve looked so fine a young lady to-
day that I almost feared I’d lost my little Bush mate. I suppose it’s
the clothes!”
“Daddy!”
“But I fancy I haven’t,” said her father twinkling. “Don’t bother
your little head about dinner—we’ll see you through. I don’t quite
know how I’d have liked it if you had been self-possessed about it.”
“Self-possessed!” uttered Norah. “Why, I’m scared to my bones!
And as for the clothes—if you’ll wait until to-morrow and let me get
into a linen collar again——!”
“I’ll know you thoroughly when I have you back at Billabong in
your riding habit,” said her father. “But these clothes are nice, too.
I’m not quarrelling with them. You’re not sorry to come back to your
old Dad?” He paused, watching her.
“Sorry!” said Norah. “Sorry!” And then her tongue suddenly
refused to do its duty. She put her head down on his shoulder, and
drew a deep breath. His arms tightened round her. They were silent
for a minute.
“Jim is a good mate,” said David Linton, “none better. But my
little mate’s place has always been empty. It’s been a long time, my
girl.”
“Long—to you, Daddy?”
 “One of the longest I remember. You see, I never bargained for
your spending midwinter having measles.”
“Neither did I,” said Norah, ruefully. The memory of that
inconsiderate ailment was still a sore thing; at the time it had been
almost too sore to be borne. “It seems just ages since I saw home.
Is it just the same, Dad?”
“I don’t think there’s any difference. Everyone has been busy
putting on a bit of extra polish for the last week; and Brownie says
she’s half a stone lighter—but she doesn’t look it; and there’s a new
inmate in the little paddock near the house calling for your
immediate inspection!”
“A new inmate?” Norah echoed.
Jim had come in, unnoticed. He grinned down at her from the
hearthrug.
“A rather swagger inmate,” he said, nodding. “Seeing how out of
form you must be, I don’t think it will be wise to let you try him—
we’ll put you up on an old stock horse for a week or so!”
“Will you, indeed?” said Norah, with some heat, yet laughing.
“You’re going to lend me Garryowen—you said so!”
“Garryowen!” said the owner of that proud steed mournfully.
“Poor old Garryowen’s tail will be hopelessly out of joint. One thing,
I’ll be able to ride him myself—being of a meek disposition!” His eyes
twinkled.
Two red spots suddenly flamed into Norah’s face.
“Dad! You don’t mean——” She stopped, looking at him
uncertainly.
“There’s something of a pony there,” said Mr. Linton, his keen
eyes watching her through his smile. “An ownerless one—wi’ a long
pedigree! I looked eight months before I found him. His name’s
Bosun, Norah, and he wants an owner.”
There was a mist before Norah’s eyes. She tried to speak, but her
head went down again upon the broad shoulder near her. A muffled
word escaped her, which sounded like, “Bricks!” Norah was least
eloquent when most moved.
Jim patted her shoulder hard, and said, “Buck up, old chap!”
being also a person of few words. For there had been another pony
of Norah’s—a most dear pony, who now slept very quietly under a
cairn of stones on a rough hillside. Not one of those three, who were
mates, could forget.
From the corridor Wally’s voice came, gently consolatory.
“I think they’ve all been kidnapped,” he was explaining. “Many a
little hungry kidnapper would think Jim quite a treat! You and I seem
left alone in this pathless forest, and probably the birds will find us,
and cover us with leaves. Don’t let it worry you—I believe the leaves
are quite comfortable!”
“Come in, Wally, you ass!” said Jim, laughing. “He may come in,
Dad——?”
“Apparently he’s in,” said Mr. Linton, resignedly, getting up.
“Come on, Wally—and Jean, too.”
“We’ve been lost—at least, we were until we found each other,”
said Wally. “We came to the conclusion that none of you Billabong
people were left in this little inn. Jean would probably have cried if I
hadn’t been crying—as it was, she felt she couldn’t, which was very
rough on her. Mr. Linton, do I know you well enough——”
“For most things,” said the squatter, laughing!
“——To mention that I am hungry?” finished Wally, unmoved.
“My last nourishment was at twelve o’clock, and it’s nearly seven
now; and theatres in this benighted district begin before eight when
they’re pantomimes!”
Mr. Linton uttered an exclamation.
“I declare, I’d forgotten all about either dinner or pantomime!” he
said. “Thank you, Wally—I’m obliged to you. Where’s my coat? I
hope all the rest of you are ready.”
“Are we going to the pantomime, Dad?” Norah’s eyes were
dancing.
“Jim says so,” said her father, laughing. “I’m in his hands.” He
caught up his coat, while Jean and Norah hugged each other in
silent ecstasy. “Now, hurry up, all of you!”
Downstairs, the big dining-room brought back Norah’s shyness
anew. She felt suddenly very young—infinitely younger than Jim and
Wally, tall and immaculate in their evening clothes, although, as a
rule, they seemed no older than herself. She kept close to her
father’s wing, greatly envying Jean’s apparent calm.
The huge room was crowded. It was full of tables of varying
sizes, not one of which seemed unoccupied—until a waiter, catching
Mr. Linton’s eye, hurried up and led them to a corner, where a round
table was reserved for them. It commanded an excellent view of the
room, and the sight was a little bewildering to the two schoolgirls.
Every one seemed in evening dress—and even Norah knew she
had seen no dresses like those the women wore—rich, clinging
things, in soft and delicate colours like the inner side of flower
petals. The masses of electric light took up the leaping light of
jewels on their necks and in their hair; all up and down the room the
eye caught the many-coloured gleam, twinkling and sparkling like
rainbow stars. Everywhere was laughter and chatter and the chink of
plates and glasses; and somewhere, unseen, a string band was
playing softly a waltz tune with a lilt in it like a bird’s note. Norah
forgot all about being nervous. Indeed, she remembered nothing,
being deeply occupied with gazing, until she found a deft waiter
putting soup before her.
“That’s my order,” said her father, and smiled. “You and Jean
have had an exciting day, and you’re to eat just what I tell you.”
By these wily means any difficulties the menu might have
suggested disappeared. Moreover, the waiter was a man of tact, and
seemed to regard it as only ordinary if his clients kept him waiting
while they put their heads together over the merits of various items
with very fine French names.
“Experience in these things is everything,” said Jim, surveying a
peculiar substance on his plate. “I ordered something that read like
a poem, and it turns out a sort of half-bred hash! Thanks, I’ll have
beef!” So they all had beef, and finished up rather hurriedly with
jelly, which, as Wally said, could be demolished quickly; for the
hands of the clock were slipping round, and a pantomime was not a
thing to be kept waiting—especially as there was no likelihood that it
would wait!—a reflection that made the situation far more serious.
Jim raced up for coats for the girls, and they all hastened out.
 In the street the lights of Melbourne lit the sky. Far as the eye
could reach the yellow glow shone against the star-gemmed
blackness. Here and there a point of special brilliance twinkled—it
was hard to tell whether it was a tall arc light reaching up into the
very heavens, or a lonely star that had leaned down towards the
friendly earth. Up and down the Bourke Street hills the lamps formed
a linked chain of diamonds on either side, while in their midst the
low gliding tram-lights were rubies and sapphires. The big head-
lights of motors made gleaming flashes as they turned, or shot
straight up the wide street, twin eyes of a dazzling radiance—so
bright that when they flashed past darkness seemed to fall doubly
dark behind them. And there were creeping bicycle lights, and
streaks of white fire, that were the lamps of motor cycles; and red
and white lights that went by in silent rubber-tyred hansoms,
noiseless save for the jingling bit and the “klop-klop” of the horse’s
hoofs upon the wooden blocks. Advertisement signs in huge electric
letters flickered into sight and disappeared again—one moment
dazzling, the next velvet black; and over picture theatres and other
places of amusement were gleaming signs of fire. And up from the
city below came the deep hum of the people that only ceases for a
little when the lights go out—that wakes again even before the
pencils of Dawn come to streak the eastern sky.
Then a tram came by, took them on board, and in a moment
they were slipping down the hill towards a busy intersection where
the post office stood, a mighty block of buildings, with its tall clock
just chiming the quarter-hour above them. On again, through the
wide, busy street, full of hurrying theatre crowds. Barefooted
newsboys ran beside the car whenever it stopped, calling out
harrowing details from the evening papers. They passed cabs,
climbing the further hill; and swift motors slipped by them—in each
Norah and Jean caught glimpses of women in evening dress, with
scarfs like trails of coloured mist. Everywhere the shop windows
were brilliantly lighted, although it was long after closing time; and
scores of people were staring through the glass at the gorgeous
displays within.
 Norah gasped at it all. It was her first experience of the City by
night, and she found it rather bewildering.
“Does Melbourne ever stop being busy?” she uttered.
Mr. Linton laughed.
“Not often,” he said—“and not for long. Personally, I prefer old
Billabong. But this is all very well for a little while.”
The car stopped at a point where an electric theatre sign blazed
right across the footpath; and they hurried down a side-street. A
string of motors and cabs had drawn up by the kerb and passengers
were hastily disembarking before a glittering theatre, with uniformed
commissionaires holding the doors open. Norah and Jean had no
time to look about them; they were hurried up a wide flight of
marble stairs, and in a moment were following Mr. Linton into
darkness, for already the lights had been turned off in the theatre,
and only a dun green ray filtered from the stage, where an old man
of the sea was engaged in making unpleasant remarks to a fairy.
The orchestra was playing softly—weird music which, Wally
whispered, gave you chills up the backbone. They stumbled down
some steps to seats in the front row, and as they thankfully subsided
into them, the green sea-caves and the fierce old man suddenly
vanished in a whirl of light and a blare of joyful music; and Norah
was whisked straight into fairyland.
In these advanced days of ours, pantomimes come very early
into the scheme of our existence. Most of us have seen one by the
time we are six; at nine we have become critical, and at twelve,
bored. After that, the pantomime may consider itself lucky if we do
not term it a “pretty rotten show.” This painful phase lasts until we
are quite old—perhaps eight and twenty. Then we begin to see fresh
joys in it, and if we are lucky, to work up quite a comforting degree
of enthusiasm. At this stage the companion we like to select must
not number more years than six. Then we feel sure of a
comprehending fellow-spectator—one who will not wither us with a
bland stare when we are consumed with helpless laughter at
Harlequin, or rent with anxiety by the perils of the “principal boy.”
But it happened that none of our party had ever been spoilt by
over-much pantomime. It was, indeed, Norah’s first experience of a
theatre. Jean had seen but little more, and Jim and Wally, big fellows
as they were, had worked and played far too hard at school to be
much concerned with going out. None of them was at all brilliant;
theirs were the cheerful, simple hearts that take work and pleasure
as they come, and do not trouble to develop either the critical or the
grumbling faculty—which are, in truth, closely related. If the boys
had not the ecstatic anticipation that seethed in Jean and Norah, at
least they were prepared to enjoy themselves very solidly.
To Norah, it was all absolutely real, and therefore wonderful past
belief. The evening to her was, as she remarked afterwards, “one
gasp.” The hero puzzled her, since it was evident that he was not a
“truly” boy; but the heroine claimed her heart from the first, and the
funny men were droll beyond compare. Indeed, from Mr. Linton
downwards, the Billabong party succumbed to the funny men, and
laughed until they ached at their antics. The fairies were certainly a
trifle buxom, compared to the sprites of Norah’s dreams; but the Old
Man of the Sea was fascinatingly life-like and evil, and caused
delightful thrills of horror to run up and down one’s spine. And then,
the gorgeousness of the whole—the flower and bird ballets, the
mysterious dances, the marches, splendid and stately, the glitter and
colour and light! And through all, over all, the music!—swaying,
rippling; low and soft one moment, with the violins wailing and the
harp strings plucked in a chord of poignant sweetness—the next,
swelling out triumphantly, wind instruments in a blare of vivid sound,
and drums and cymbals clashing wild and stately measures.
Afterwards the wonder of the night merged in Norah’s brain to a
kind of kaleidoscopic picture, swiftly changing in colour and
magnificence; but always clear was the memory of the orchestra,
weaving magic spells of music that caught her heart in their meshes.
She was a little breathless when the curtain fell on the first act,
and the lights flashed out over the body of the theatre. Instinctively
her hand sought her father’s.
“Is it all over, Dad?”
“Not much!” said Mr. Linton. “This is half-time. What do you think
of it?”
“Oh—it’s lovely!” breathed his daughter. “Isn’t it, Jean?”
 “I should just think so!” Jean said. “Will there be more like it?”
“Very much the same, I expect,” said the squatter, laughing. “And
what do you think of this part of the house?”
It was not the least interesting part. The closing of the city
schools had set free hosts of pilgrims on the ways of knowledge,
debarred, as a rule, by stern necessity from such relaxations as
pantomimes. Now it seemed that parents in general had risen to a
sense of their duty, for it was clearly a “young” night. There were
girls and boys in every part of the theatre—in big parties, in twos
and threes, or even singly, accompanied by a cheery father and
mother, in many cases keener to enjoy than their charges.
Everywhere were fresh young faces—girls with bright hair and
glowing cheeks, and sunburnt boys with shining collars: and
everywhere was a babel and buzz of talk and laughter as the young
voices broke loose. A procession—chiefly men—left their seats and
filed out; a proceeding which puzzled and pained Norah, who was
heard to regret audibly that they were making the mistake of
thinking the theatre was over. Wally laid a big box of chocolates on
her knee, remarking that she looked hungry—an insult received by
the maligned one with fitting scorn. At the moment Norah could
scarcely have noticed the difference between chocolates and corned
beef!
“Won’t do,” grinned Jim, watching her dancing eyes. “She’s
getting too excited, Dad—we’d better take her home to bed!”
“I’d like to see you!” said Norah, belligerently. “Oh, my goodness,
Jean, it’s going up again!”
“It”—which was the curtain—flashed up suddenly, as the lights
went out, and straightway Norah forgot everything but the
wonderland on the stage. She leaned forward breathlessly, half
afraid of losing even a glimpse of the marvels that were unfolded
with such apparent calm. “As if,” said Norah later, “it was as ordinary
as washing-day!”
Ever since she could remember, she had danced. But the dancing
on the stage was a new thing altogether. It was music put into
motion; it was as though the fairies had caught the spirits of joy and
poetry and youth, and turned them all into a rhythmic harmony.
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