"Why, if it isn't Miss Bessie! Beg pardon, ma'am, but I do forget your married name. You are always Miss Bessie to me."
"I love to be called by the old name," said Mrs. Inglefield with her happy laugh, "and here is my little flock waiting to be made acquainted with you. They are going to start gardens, Henry, but they can make their own choice. Do you remember how I used to tear up to you when my pocket-money was due? What a lot of money I spent on seeds and flowers!"
"You were a born gardener, that you were!"
"Well, I haven't had a nice garden in India; we have moved about so much."
"Mums," said Chris, "may we see the flowers and choose?"
"Aye, come along then, and tell me what you want. Fruit to eat, flowers to smell, or shrubs to grow?"
"Is your daughter still with you?" asked Mrs. Inglefield.
"She is. She married, was left a widow in the war, and came back to me. My grandson is a big boy and goes to school. If I may say so, ma'am, you've a garden round you worth cultivating. Young fruit trees want a lot of training to make them fruit-bearing!"
Mrs. Inglefield looked at her children and then at the old man.
"You are right," she said, "and I'm going to try to do it, and if I get into difficulties I shall come to you. I think I will leave my children with you, and go into the cottage and have a talk with Bessie."