"Oh, auntie, don't say that!" I replied. "I don't care so much about it, only I thought it would be convenient just now if I had one."
"I tell you what you could do if you liked, dear," said my aunt, "not that I think it will make any difference as far as the advertisement is concerned, but there is a business letter I am anxious to receive which may come in by the second post. You might step over to the Vicarage, and ask Jack to call at the post-office for us as he comes back from Chelmsford."
"That I will," I said as I rose from the table, "and I must go at once or Jack will have started. He has to be at his tutor's by ten."
I put on my hat and coat, and went out. The breeze which met me and blew out my skirts was fresh and strong, but its keen edge had gone. The sun was breaking through the ragged grey clouds that were scudding across the sky. Its rays glorified a bed of crocuses, and by the gate, sheltered by the high garden wall, I found the first daffodil. I had been watching for days the green, swelling buds, but not till now had I seen the gleam of gold. Stooping to lift the drooping head, I gazed at it with exquisite delight. How different it was in its dainty freshness from any daffodil I had ever bought in London!
"I shall learn to love gardening if I stay here long enough!" I said to myself as I went on my way.
Turning to the right and following the winding of the lane, I came in a few minutes to Greentree Church, a picturesque, red-bricked building with a pointed steeple. A peaceful churchyard lay about it, with many old tombstones, grey and defaced by age, some bearing curiously worded epitaphs. A little beyond the church was the Vicarage, a beautiful old house, built of red brick, which had long taken on the rich, mellow hue of age. A magnificent cedar adorned the lawn, and an almond tree, breaking into blossom, overhung the gate. The trees and shrubs which grew within were rather too luxuriant, a sign of bad gardening, for flowers could not flourish beneath their heavy shade, and the garden had rather a neglected appearance. The Vicar cared nothing for flowers, nor did Jack concern himself about their culture, though he always evinced what I believed to be an unfeigned interest in Aunt Patty's garden.
The phaeton stood before the door of the house as I approached. Jack's dogs ran barking to meet me, and he came quickly from the house to see why they were making such a commotion.
"Oh, Nan, you are an early visitor—but only just in time!" he exclaimed, looking as pleased as if he had not seen me for a year, whereas he had been at "Gay Bowers" on the previous day. Jack was the most friendly and sociable of beings. It was a striking instance of the irony of fate that such a one should share this quiet home with a father who was always immersed in his books. Aunt Patty's guests, when they came, would have a welcome from Jack.
"Oh, are you going to drive?" I said. "I thought you would cycle to Chelmsford this morning."
"What—with this wind in my teeth all the way?" he replied. "That would be rather too much for me. I might have ridden Bess, only, you see, the pater is going up to town to-day, so I shall drive him to the station before going to Medley's."