“The Dahlias are splendid this year,” Oswald remarked, “and these Japanese roses are covered with berries. Splendid, aren’t they? One can make a jelly of them. Quite a good jelly. And let me see, wasn’t there a little summerhouse at the end of this path where one looked over the Weald? Ah! here it is. Hardly changed at all.”
He sat down. Here he had talked with Dolly and taken her hand....
He bestirred himself to talk.
“And exactly how old are you now, Peter?”
“Ten years and two months,” said Peter.
“We’ll have to find a school for you.”
“Have you been in Africa since I saw you?” Peter asked, avoiding the topic.
“Since you saw me going off,” said Oswald, and the man glanced at the boy and the boy glanced at the man, and each was wondering what the other remembered. “I’ve been in Uganda all the time. There’s been fighting and working. Some day you must go to Uganda and see all that has been done. We’ve made a good railway and good roads and telegraphs. We’ve put down robbers and cruelty.”
“And shot a lot of lions?”
“Plenty. The lions were pretty awful for a bit. About Nairobi and along the line.”