“Very well, thank you,” she answered. “I can walk a bit now. This morning I walked as far as yonder rose-bush, and to-morrow I’m goin’ to try and get up to the big tree.”
“Very well” might have sounded faint praise for the Manor Farm to unaccustomed ears; but Maisie knew that the country-people used the term to express the very highest satisfaction, so she was quite content.
From their snug corner under the shady veranda, the children watched the arrival of the guests, as they came out of the house in twos and threes, and moved into the bright sunshine on the lawn.
“It’s like looking at a peep-show or a magic-lantern,” said Maisie; “we’re in the shadow and they’re in the light. Now I’ll tell you who they are. Here’s Mrs Broadbent and Emmeline and Lilian.”
Mrs Broadbent and her two daughters stopped on their way to make many excuses for the absence of Mr Broadbent.
“He’s such a one, Mr Solace, for sticking to his work; isn’t he, girls? I said this morning, ‘Now do take a little rest, papa, this afternoon, and leave things to your bailiff for once.’ But no. ‘The master’s eye,’ he says, ‘does more work than both his hands.’”
“Well, he’s in the right there,” said Mr Solace good-humouredly.
“That’s little Miss Chester, isn’t it?” she went on, her sharp eye catching sight of the children, “and her cousin, Miss Trevor? How delicate she looks, poor child!” She nodded and smiled graciously.
“No, that’s not Miss Trevor,” replied Mr Solace; “that’s my wheelwright’s little girl. She’s been ill, and she’s stopping here for change of air. My wife’s going to nurse her up a bit.”
“So odd!” remarked Mrs Broadbent, as she and her daughters moved on into the garden. “I really do think Mrs Solace might draw the line somewhere.”