"Nay, I don't know," growled Mr. Jarvis, who had just received the photograph of a very homely-looking young woman from Mr. Vavasour, and was much incensed by what he considered the agent's stupidity. "Who?"
"Why, from my niece—leastways a sort of niece, seeing as she was poor George's sister Martha Margaret's daughter—Poppy Atteridge, as has just returned to England from foreign parts," answered Mrs. Pringle. "Her father was an engineer and took her over to Canada when he went to settle there after his wife died. He's dead now, it seems, and so the poor girl's come home. Dear me!—I did once see her when she was little. She writes quite affectionate and says she feels lonely. Ah, if I'd a house of my own, I'd ask her to come and see me!"
"Ask her to come and see you here, then!" said the farmer. "I'm sure there's room enough, unless she wants to sleep in six bed-chambers all at once."
"Well, I'm sure it's very kind of you," said Mrs. Pringle, "and if you really don't mind, I will ask her. I don't think you'll find her in the way very much—they were always a quiet, well-behaved sort, the Atteridges."
Mr. Jarvis remarked that a few lasses, more or less, in the house were not likely to trouble him, and having finished his breakfast, lighted a cigar, and locked up the homely-looking lady's photograph in his desk with a hearty anathematization of Mr. Vavasour for sending it, went out to look at his sheep and cattle and forgot the breakfast-table conversation. Indeed, he thought no more of it until two days later, when, on his going home from market to the Saturday evening high tea, Mrs. Pringle met him in the hall with the news that her niece had arrived, and was in the parlour.
"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Jarvis, who was in a very benevolent mood, consequent upon his having got an uncommonly good price for his wheat and spent a convivial hour with the purchaser. "Poor thing—I doubt she'll have had a rare cold journey."
Then he walked into the parlour to offer the poor young thing a welcome to his roof and hearth, and found himself encountered by a smiling and handsome young lady who had very sparkling eyes and a vivacious manner, and whom he immediately set down as the likeliest lass he had seen for many a long day. He thought of the gallery of dowdies whom Mr. Vavasour had recently sent him by counterfeit presentment, and his spirits rose rapidly.
"Well, deary me to-day!" he said, as he began to carve the home-fed ham in delicate slices. "Deary me to-day! I'd no idea that we were to be honoured with so much youth and beauty, as the saying is. I was looking forward to seeing a little gel, Mrs. Pringle. Your aunt there didn't prepare me for such a pleasant surprise, Miss—nay, I've forgotten what the name is!"
"Atteridge," said Mrs. Pringle's supposed niece. "But call me Poppy, Mr. Jarvis—I shall feel more at home."
"Poppy!" chuckled Mr. Jarvis. "Ecod, and a rare pretty poppy an' all! Deary me—deary me!"