"Hallo, Sunshine!"
"Father, come up the hill. It is so lovely this morning."
The squire advanced with steady, even footsteps. He was a fine, stalwart man, dressed in a stout suit of corduroy, and with leggings buttoned up to his knees. He carried a gun under his arm—more from habit than from any idea of using it just then—and close at his heels walked, with sedate and leisurely bearing, his chief friend and companion, a large retriever, Duke; while two little terriers, Nip and Pip, bustled about in every direction, scenting with their sharp noses, and occasionally turning upon each other to have a playful passage of arms which, though accompanied by ominous growls, meant nothing but fun.
"I am up first to-day, daddy!" Joyce exclaimed, as she went down the gentle descent and linked her arm in her father's. "I am first, and is not it beautiful to be alive on such a day?"
The squire paused, and putting his arm round his daughter's waist, he said, looking down at her with eyes of loving pride:
"Beautiful! yes," thinking, though he did not say so, that the most beautiful thing in all that beautiful world was his little Sunshine, his darling Joyce.
"I hope the weather will keep fine for the hay," he said; "but the glass went up with a gallop yesterday; still, it looks fair enough this morning."
"When are we to begin to cut the grass, daddy?"
"To-morrow, in the home meadow," was the reply. "I am going into Wells to-day, for the magistrates' meeting."
"May I come, father?"