Randolph shook his head as he deposited him on a chair.
"How can you eat a person you have known in life?" he asked.
Chuckles heaved a sigh.
"I can pretend I never knowed her, like I does Johnny Barton, who frew my ball down the well."
Monica sat at the head of the table behind an old-fashioned silver urn. She and her little nephew seemed to be on the best of terms with each other, but more than once she checked the child's tongue. Miss Darlington—who was called "Aunt Dannie" by all who knew her—had a ready flow of conversation, and was amusing in her description of the country round them and their neighbours. Randolph and she kept the ball of conversation rolling. Monica herself was singularly silent.
When the meal was over, Randolph sauntered out of doors to smoke a pipe, and presently Monica joined him and took him round the premises. He could not but admire the order and prosperity of it all.
"What makes you such a good farmer, I wonder?" he said presently. "None of your forbears went in for it."
"Ah," she said, "I have lighted on a good man to superintend it. John Bayley is a farmer born, only he had the misfortune to own an unhealthy farm. He gave it up when he had four children taken from him by diphtheria, and having lost heavily in three or four bad years, was willing to come to me. He has taught me all I know. My time at an agricultural college has been of benefit to me; and I love outdoor life, as you know. I think I should have sickened and died in a town. I loathe it so!"
Randolph was silent for a few minutes, then he said:
"Well, I'm going to laze for a bit in your country air. What are your plans for to-morrow? Not harvesting yet, are you?"