"I'm showing ye how an old woman walks on thin ice," said Martha. She stopped dancing. "The Poor Boy is off to his playground, and it's time you got ready for your walk."
"Did he say when he was coming back?"
"'Not before dark,' he said."
"Then I can go as far as the Three Beeches," said Miss Joy. She drew a long breath.
"'Tis a pity ye have to walk alone."
"But it's doing me so much good. I'd hate to know what I weigh."
"Be careful you don't fall and hurt yourself," said Martha. "And be careful your red cheeks don't set the woods on fire."
"Oh, Martha, are they—too red?"
"Miss Joy"—this with solemn and heartfelt faith—"unless it is for a nose now and then, the Lord Gawd never made anything too red in his life—"
The Poor Boy hurried to the beautiful new Georgian home that Lord Harrow had built on Lilly Pond, and was already occupying. As befitted a great man he had the whole lake to himself. His house, backed by noble beeches and pines, faced south, and was a wonderful deep red, with white trim. The house opened directly on a terrace, which in turn was built out over the lake. It was formally planted to box and roses. It was all under snow now, but white mounds marked the positions of the box-bushes, and neat stakes and straw jackets showed where the roses would bloom.