"I have not made up my mind about that story, papa," said the Daughter of the House. "It is not altogether satisfactory."
"But very much what usually happens," said John Gayther, in an undertone.
THIS STORY IS TOLD BY
THE FRENCHMAN
AND IS CALLED
MY BALLOON HUNT
[VI]
MY BALLOON HUNT
The next morning, after breakfast, the Mistress of the House and John Gayther were walking through the garden together, for her quick eye had detected much that needed attention. Some things she had already decided upon, but there were others in which she thought it best to ask John's advice. They did not always agree; in fact, they were seldom in exact accord: but both were sensible, and he reasoned that, as mistress, she ought to do as she pleased; and she reasoned that, as he had learned the business and she had not, it was just to him and to herself that he should, on many points, be allowed his own way.
The orchard was really a continuation of the lower terrace of the garden, but the Mistress had not been there for some time. "A great many pears, John," she commented as they strolled under the trees; "a fair show of apples: but there are no plums at all."
"Plums have their seasons," said John, sententiously. "They are not always falling in one's way; and these are choice plums and don't come promiscuous—sorter scattered like."
"I wonder if John means that for philosophy," thought the Mistress. Then aloud: "My daughter brought me a luscious one yesterday, and, really, it looks as if she had gathered the only one."
"Bless her heart!" said John, fervently, "I hope she's goin' to pick them up all along the way she goes."