As he spoke, the Vicar came out of the house. He was an elderly man, tall, with bowed shoulders, which bore witness to the habits of a scholar. He greeted me kindly, but in an absent-minded fashion. He rarely seemed to give his whole mind to the person he addressed, an unfortunate defect in a clergyman. He did, however, so far recognise my individuality as to inquire for Aunt Patty. It was Jack who asked whether we had had any response to the advertisement.
"Any bites?" was his concise way of putting it.
I shook my head, then hastened to make my request that he would call for us at the post-office on his way home.
"Of course I will," he said promptly, "and I will bring you good luck, too, in the face of an offer from a most desirable 'paying guest.'"
"That is more than you possibly can promise," I replied.
"Oh, you don't know. I have a presentiment that I shall find something good for you at the post-office," he returned. "Come and meet me, Nan, and see if I am not right. I shall walk back, for the trap will have to remain in Chelmsford for father. Meet me half-way."
"I dare say," I said, "that would mean a walk of five miles. I should have thought nothing of it a year ago, but now—although I am ever so much stronger than when I came down—"
"Of course! How thoughtless of me!" he broke in. "Come as far as the Wood End Oaks then; but no farther by the road, for I shall take the short cut."
"Perhaps," I said, "I do not promise," but I meant to go all the same.
Meanwhile the Vicar had climbed into the phaeton.