"Do you know, John," said Theodore, "that most likely we shall be going there soon. Father said at breakfast this morning that he thought a month at his farm at Naraton would be a nice change for us all, and he would write to Mrs. Fry, the farmer's wife, to know if she can take us in."
"Oh, I hope she will!" Jack cried, his face all aglow with glad expectancy. "Father says he would like us to go as soon as the spring really comes. He is going too, and mother, and Jane."
"What will Miss Penelope say?" asked the old man smiling. "Is she willing to give you both a holiday?"
"Oh, yes!" the boys replied; and Theodore added: "I suppose if we go it will be about Easter."
Mrs. Fry wrote in due course to the effect that she would be glad to receive her landlord and his family. She was accustomed to take lodgers during the summer months, and considered herself fortunate to have an opportunity of letting her rooms so early in the year.
Naraton was a pretty little village, situated in a valley amid the Dartmoor tors. The surrounding country was very rough, great rocks of granite being scattered over all the fields, making the land exceedingly difficult to cultivate. Naraton Church, a grand old edifice, which had withstood the storms of several hundreds of years, was built entirely of granite, and most of the tombstones in the churchyard were of the same durable, grey stone. The village, about a score of cottages in all, was built almost in a circle around a green open space, known as "Naraton Green," which was given up to a lot of poultry belonging to the inhabitants of the surrounding dwellings. There was a blacksmith's shop close to the entrance to the churchyard, and on the opposite side of the Green was the post office, which was also a sort of general store, where drapery, groceries, and all kinds of commodities for household use might be obtained.
A beautiful April day was drawing to a close as an open carriage drawn by a pair of horses appeared at the bend of the road by the blacksmith's shop, and swept around Naraton Green on its way to Blackburn Farm. Inside the carriage were Mrs. Barton, Jane, and the two boys; whilst Mr. Barton occupied the box-seat with the driver.
"Sit still, do sit still, Master Theodore," Jane remonstrated as Theodore stood up, the better to gaze about him. "If the carriage should jerk upon a stone you might be thrown out, and that would be a bad beginning to a holiday."
"Oh, Jane, what a fidget you are!" Theodore cried impatiently, resenting the manner in which she clutched him by the sleeve. "Let go my arm! Do you think I'm a baby, to want looking after like that?"
"I wish you'd be as quiet as Master Jack," she continued reproachfully; "he doesn't worry as you do!"