As soon as ever dinner was over Uncle John said, "Now then, boys!" and a start was made for the allotment gardens.
The allotment gardens were in a field which sloped right down to the river. Many of their owners were there on this sunny November afternoon, tidying their patches of ground against the coming winter. Several large bonfires were burning finely, and it was not long before Harold and Billy were busily engaged making a bonfire of their own. Meanwhile John Dingle was weeding the ground between his winter greens, pausing now and again to exchange a few words with other allotment holders.
"There's going to be a change in the weather before long," Billy overheard him say by-and-by to a man who was passing.
"Aye, aye!" was the answer; "the wind's changing—veering round to the west."
"Does a west wind bring rain, Uncle John?" Billy inquired.
"Very often. But there are other signs the fine weather's going to break up. See those long fleecy clouds? Mares' tails we call 'em. They mean wind—high wind. It wouldn't surprise me if there was a westerly gale before morning. Where's May?"
May had followed her father and the boys to the allotment field, but had wandered away from her father's garden. She was now seen returning with the Vicar—he often came there on Saturday afternoons, Billy afterwards learnt.
"Oh, she's with Mr. Singleton!" John Dingle exclaimed; "that's all right! I don't like her to get away to the river by herself for fear she should fall in. You haven't spoken to our Vicar yet, have you, Billy? He was in the post office this morning and spoke of you—he noticed you on Sunday."
"Yes," said Mr. Singleton, who had come up with May and heard the postmaster's last words; "and I want to make the acquaintance of my new parishioner."
He shook hands with Billy. Although he was really old his eyes looked young, the little boy noticed. Those eyes were smiling at him now in the kindliest, friendliest fashion. "So you've come to live with your grandfather," he said. "I hope you'll like the country. You're going in for gardening, I understand! Ah, you wonder how I know that! A friend of yours told me—Mr. Tom Turpin."