She embraced Effie with enthusiasm, and her husband with a chastened warmth, and went, a pious prayer on her lips that she might never again set eyes upon Bryngelly.
It will not be necessary for us to follow Lady Honoria in her travels. That afternoon Effie and her father had great fun. They packed up. Geoffrey, who was rapidly recovering from his stiffness, pushed the things into the portmanteaus and Effie jumped on them. Those which would not go in they bundled loose into the fly, till that vehicle looked like an old clothes ship. Then, as there was no room left for them inside, they walked down to the Vicarage by the beach, a distance of about three-quarters of a mile, stopping on their way to admire the beautiful castle, in one corner of which Owen Davies lived and moved.
“Oh, daddy,” said the child, “I wish you would buy a house like that for you and me to live in. Why don’t you, daddy?”
“Haven’t got the money, dear,” he answered.
“Will you ever have the money, daddy?”
“I don’t know, dear, perhaps one day—when I am too old to enjoy it,” he added to himself.
“It would take a great many pennies to buy a house like that, wouldn’t it, daddy?” said Effie sagely.
“Yes, dear, more than you could count,” he answered, and the conversation dropped.
Presently they came to a boat-shed, placed opposite the village and close to high-water mark. Here a man, it was old Edward, was engaged in mending a canoe. Geoffrey glanced at it and saw that it was the identical canoe out of which he had so nearly been drowned.
“Look, Effie,” said he, “that is the boat out of which I was upset.” Effie opened her wide eyes, and stared at the frail craft.