Other effects were not wanting to complete the picture. Here on a summer afternoon you would hear a pet robin punctually begin his sweet song, at “four of the clock precisely,” from his favourite perch on a spreading fir tree that overhung the eaves of the house—a little robin that used to hop down every morning to the adjacent window of the parlour, to receive his matutinal crumbs from Lizzie’s hand. The “chuck! chuck! chuck!” of the black bird too, would be also heard from the laurel shrubbery; and the rival strains of the yellow-hammer from the neighbouring medlar tree. The latter gentleman would commence his lay with a “whirr,” like an alarm clock running down, and end with a sort of chorus like the concluding bars of “Green grow the Rushes O!” The Beccaficoes, too, or English ortolan, very like the thrush, would assemble here in the hot months of the year, and did not fail to leave evidences of their partiality for the fruit tree which received the Saviour’s curse.
Tom Hartshorne had explored all this paradise long before, in the company of Miss Lizzie; and he was now, as I said, under her tuition, looking at her tying on some artificial May-fly or other ichneumon to his line.
It was a beautiful morning—not yet twelve—and the air was balmy, and scented with new-mown hay and flowers; while bees were buzzing around, and birds singing in the air, the lark, chief songster, above them all; altogether, Master Tom was situated under very romantic circumstances, and his handsome Saxon face and honest blue eyes looked and shone out happy in the extreme.
Lizzie was dressed in a dainty little muslin dress, picked out with some lilac tinge, and her little hat was thrown on coquettishly, half off and half on; while her bright pretty little face was unclouded, and there was a depth of tenderness in the deep violet eyes that glanced up every now and then to Tom.
She had just succeeded in tying on the fly, and looked up suddenly in a triumphant, saucy little way, in Tom’s face. He was very close to her, for he had to watch very narrowly to see how the work was done, and he stooped at the time she looked up; and she said, “There, sir!”
They were very close together, and their eyes met, and Tom was stooping, and, naturally, as those sweet little tempting rosebud lips were so near, he—
Well, what would you do if a very pretty girl was very close to you, male reader, under the same circumstances? What reply would you make?
Very well, Tom did it!
Just at that moment, Lady Inskip was driving round the road which skirted by the parsonage garden, to pay a visit, and leave an invitation, at the house of our friend, the young incumbent. It was not long after her encounter with the dowager, and Lady Inskip was still wrath: her observation being keen, and the pony carriage high, she could therefore see the little meeting between Tom and Lizzie over the wall.
She saw it all, my dear sir; and her sense of propriety was so shocked, that, instead of calling, as she intended, on the Pringles, she only left the invitation and drove on homewards.