That evening when I returned from the city I saw that the lawn grass had been cut so closely that it looked as if the lawn had been shaved. Isobel ran to meet me.
“John!” she cried; “John! Who do you think has moved into the flat overhead?”
“Dear me!” I exclaimed. “How should I know?”
“The Prawleys!” she cried. “The Prawleys have moved back again. Are you not glad?”
I concealed my chagrin. I hid the sorrow with which I saw my passionate fondness for outdoor work once more defeated of its object.
“Isobel,” I said, “I wish you would tell Mr. Prawley's doctor to tell Mr. Prawley that it is imperative for Mr. Prawley's best health that Mr. Prawley dig the grass out of the gravel walks to-morrow. Tell him—”
“I told him this evening to do the walks the first thing in the morning,” said Isobel innocently, “and when he has done them I am going to have him help Mary wash the windows.”