“Isn’t it?”
“Then you read romances?” I asked quickly.
“I read all I can lay hands on,” he replied. “I’m living just as my sister and I dreamed we’d live if ever something wonderful happened.”
“And it has happened?”
“You’re right, sir. My sister lives in the little cottage I bought with my savings. She’s got all she wants—all anybody might want, you might say. A cottage, six-roomed, all white, with a Pink Rose growing over the porch, and a canary in a cage in the parlour. Then there’s a garden, and a bit of orchard, and bees and a river at the bottom of the little meadow, and a Catholic Church within a stone’s throw—so it’s all right. She’s a rare good gardener, is my sister.”
“I envy you both,” I said.
He looked me up and down for a moment before speaking. “No cause for you to do that, I expect, sir.”
“Well, you know what you want, and you’ve got it.”
We had reached the crest of the hill now after a longish climb. It was a hot day and I proposed a rest. Besides, it was one o’clock and I was hungry.
I had four hard boiled eggs, and he had bread and cheese—we divided our goods evenly, and ate comfortably under a hedge in a field.