"Moss Rose, of course," he answered, without hesitation. "I am so glad that Uncle Percival insisted that no one should wear mourning for him. I should not like to see you in black, child. It would look tragic, and I don't know what I could call you."
"Won't Teddie find it funny going back to college, after being a clerk so long?" Hazel said, laughing.
Paul agreed. "When are you going to call me Paul?" he asked of a sudden. "I am longing to hear you."
Hazel looked dubious. "Some people never do," she answered, desirous of showing him she was not peculiar. "We once knew a man named John Dalrymple, and his wife called him Mr. Dalrymple, and when she was very friendly, just Dalrymple, but never John."
"Then suppose you begin by calling me Charteris," he suggested.
"Perhaps I don't feel friendly enough," she returned mischievously. "Shall I go ahead here, or will you?"
They had entered upon a bit of woodland, through which a bridle track led to the open country beyond. It was a somewhat dangerous path to traverse on horseback, save in the full light of day: for here and there a far-stretching tree would reach out a powerful limb, as though to stay the rider's further progress; and, as if angered at the prudence of the low-ducking horseman, would make a desperate endeavour to clutch at his hat. It successful in this attempt, the trophy would be flung to the ground in malicious glee, causing a considerable amount of trouble to the hapless owner; there being nothing for it but to rein up, dismount, and retrace the distance already passed over to recover the ill-used headgear.
Under foot the way was smooth enough, well beaten, and, to-day, frost-bound; so that no distraction offered itself to divert the mind from close attention to these dangers overhead.
It was a lovely scene. Dew and frost had combined to set a sparkling filigree upon patches of bracken, whilst in the less-sheltered spots whole groups of trees stood as if carved in white glistening coral, the knots and articulations of each massive trunk, shapely branch, and twig clearly defined against a sky of such steely blue, that the scarlet of the holly berries was rendered doubly vivid in compliment, and the shining dark blue-green of the holly leaves looked almost cruel in the strength and sharpness of their stiff outline—the hard, even curves between the tiny spikes seeming only to serve to strengthen the merciless little weapons, as though Nature, in her vein of architect, was aware of the support lying within the arch-like fashion of shape, and revelled in the knowledge. Upon the ground dead leaf-drifts in masses shimmered white and hard-caked together; hollow hazel-nuts and dry alder cones lay stiff and stark; touchwood abounded—all wreckage of the passing year, most beautiful in death, keeping life in whatsoever it covered, giving warmth and protection to delicate root and bulb, to grey lichen and green mosses; whilst the dead brake fern helped to nurse next year's glory of bracken—all jealously guarding the priceless treasures locked within the earth, showing that death is not vain.
Rest in life was upon all things; beautiful in itself and in the promise it gave forth. For oh, the transcendent loveliness of a few months later, when Nature should arise from her long, long beauty-sleep, warm-flushed, star-eyed, instinct with tender vigour, to bathe in dew and sun baths!