'The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.'—Tennyson.
The next morning, after breakfast, Miss Rayner took me all over her chicken farm. It was most interesting to me, as I had never seen anything of the sort before. All the houses and contrivances for the chickens, from the time they left their egg-shells, were so perfect in every little detail, and the incubators I thought charming. A brood of little chicks were just hatched, but I could not help expressing my regret to Miss Rayner that they had no proper mother.
'They must miss such a lot,' I said; 'it seems such a desolate state to be in.'
'We never miss what we have not been accustomed to,' Miss Rayner said briskly. 'Much better have no mother than a bad one, and hens are not better than most folks—they very often ill-treat their young.'
I saw, from the way she went about and superintended everything, that her whole heart was with her poultry, and she was one to do all that came to her hand both thoroughly and well. Her servants seemed devoted to her, though I heard her scolding her outdoor man so severely that I wondered he stood it as meekly as he did.
I soon became quite at home, and enjoyed my new life immensely. I was left pretty much to myself in the morning, but in the afternoon Miss Rayner would often invite me out for a long walk or drive. She rode a great deal, and persuaded me to accompany her on a very quiet chestnut mare.
I had taken riding lessons at school, but had not had much opportunity of riding since, and the Forsyths never seemed to have a horse to spare. It was a great pleasure to me now, and I could not but enjoy Miss Rayner's society. She was a cultivated, well-read woman, and her conversation was very different to that to which I had been accustomed. She made me feel my own ignorance on many subjects, and I was glad to read the books and reviews she placed in my hands.
One evening she had given me a fresh book, dealing with some of the questions of the present day, and had said that she would like me to study it, for the writer was a clever and rising author.
I read on for some time in silence, and then I put it down.
'Is it too deep for you?' she asked.