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MR. DALE stood in the doorway of his new home, looking out.
He and Pattie had arrived nearly a week before, and already the house was in pretty fair order.
Furniture was not too abundant, and he had shown himself unwilling to make many purchases, even though Cragg named the lowest possible prices for things that really could not be done without. Over each one Mr. Dale had mused dubiously; and over each, when he gave in, he did so with a sigh.
A girl had been found for them by Mr. Cragg; clumsy and slow and dull, it is true, but good-tempered; and Pattie toiled like a horse to make up deficiencies.
Such carpets as they possessed were squares, needing only to be laid down on well-scoured boards; and old curtains fitted the windows, almost without alteration. Mr. Dale had given fitful help, but he was not a handy man; and most of the things that he did had to be undone and done again by Pattie, when he was out of sight.
He was tired now, even with the exertion of doing so little; and he made his way to the open front door for a breath of fresh air.
It was a very soft and balmy air which met him, and the world around seemed full of life. Insects buzzed and flashed to and fro, and birds were singing at the utmost pitch of their voices on all sides. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and long red clouds lay over distant hills, bright with his radiance. Though the country round could not be called pretty, it looked pretty now, as almost any English country does on a fair June evening.
A bush near was clothed in wild clematis, and wild white rosebuds were bursting into bloom upon the hedge beyond. The muddy little stream, flowing amid grass and flags, carried a gleam of red.
Mr. Dale did not seem to enjoy the prettiness. His eyes had an unhappy careworn expression; and he sighed profoundly so soon as he found himself alone.