"She said she used to know you, and grandfather too," Gerald said; "and I should think she is awfully old, her face is covered with wrinkles, and her hair is perfectly white."
"Then I dare say it is the same Miss Goodwin. Where does she live? At Myrtle Villa? Of course I ought to have remembered! To think that she should be still alive!" And Mr. Bailey looked quite excited.
"She must be a dear old soul, I am sure!" Mr. Willis exclaimed. "I only hope she did not rob her garden of all its flowers!"
"Oh no, there were plenty left," Angel assured him; "you could hardly see where those were gathered. And she seemed so pleased to cut them for you."
"I wish she knew what pleasure they are giving me; I must tell her if she calls. I feel as if I have made a friend in Wreyford, though I have never met her yet." And the smile which lit up Mr. Willis' face as he spoke was full of gratification.
Angel met her uncle's eyes saw that he too had noticed how much brighter the invalid was looking; but neither realized how much the little old maid's spontaneous act of kindness had to do with his better spirits; perhaps he did not realize it himself, although his eyes constantly wandered to the flowers in their fresh, spring beauty, and he repeated many times ere the day was done, "It was very good of her to send them to me."
[CHAPTER XI]
On the Bridge
THE Wreyford Grammar School stood in the main street of the town. It was a substantial grey stone building, with a large playground at the back, which, on a certain April morning, presented a decidedly uproarious scene, some sixty boys of all sizes and ages being assembled there, talking, shouting, and laughing at the top of their voices. Some of the boys were boarders, but the majority was comprised of day pupils, who represented not only the leading families of the town, but the small traders and farmers of the surrounding districts as well, for the Wreyford Grammar School was open to all whose parents could pay the very moderate fees demanded.
The boys had just been dismissed for the Easter holidays; and presently a door in the wall leading into a lane at the back of Fore Street was opened, and they began gradually to disperse through that exit. Almost the first to leave was Gilbert Mickle: No one attempted to speak to him as he passed through the crowd of boys except his brother, who was talking to a group composed of his boon companions, and shouted to him to ask if he was going home already.