“Yes, indeed. Don’t think of that please, Miss Churchill.”
“Will you sit here awhile? The air is so fresh and fragrant. The greater part of my going out amounts to this only, so I am thankful for the beautiful prospect. Look at those woods over there.”
Another knoll dark with evergreens as tall as those around the house. At a little distance an adjoining hill, but in the level opening between, there was a field of ripening wheat which looked like a golden sea. Fan spoke of it.
“How odd,” returned Miss Lucy, “I have had the same thought dozens of times in the last fortnight. I sometimes imagine that there is a lovely undiscovered country just beyond, and what it is like. I am glad that I cannot go out to discover it, that would take away half the charm.”
Fanny smiled at the quaint conceit, so satisfying.
“And now tell me all about the children at home, and the sick young man? What do you think Dr. Hawley said to me a few days ago?—Miss Lucy, you need some one to bring you a good dish of gossip.”
“Good gossip at that;” laughed Mr. Churchill with a humorous twinkle in his eye. “If Miss Endicott does not acquit herself well, I’ll go for some of the village cronies.”
“I’ll begin with the baby then,” and Fanny moved her seat a trifle. “She is just the cunningest baby you ever saw. We were all smart children, but she is a prodigy. She sits alone, and creeps a little sideways, and when she gets in a glee, flaps her wings, i. e. her arms, and crows.”
Mr. Churchill shook his head solemnly. “That will hardly do for a girl,” he said, “and a clergyman’s daughter.”
“We think it best for her to do her crowing while she is small,” was Fannie’s playful answer.