The church was built of stone, of course, and a portion of it was older than the Norman conquest. Before the altar steps were two ancient effigies of knights in armor, with crossed gauntlets and their feet supported by crouching lions. These old fellows were scratched and scarred and initialed. Upon one noble nose were the letters “A. H. N. 1694.” I decided that vandalism was not a modern innovation.
While the rector and I were inspecting the church, Mrs. Cole and Hephzy were making a tour of the house. They met us at the door. Mrs. Cole's eyes were twinkling; I judged that she had found Hephzy amusing. If this was true it had not warped her judgment, however, for, a moment later when she and I were alone, she said:
“Your cousin, Miss Cahoon, is a good housekeeper, I imagine.”
“She is all of that,” I said, decidedly.
“Yes, she was very particular concerning the kitchen and scullery and the maids' rooms. Are all American housekeepers as particular?”
“Not all. Miss Cahoon is unique in many ways; but she is a remarkable woman in all.”
“Yes. I am sure of it. And she has such a typical American accent, hasn't she.”
We were to take possession on the following Monday. We lunched at the “Red Cow,” the village inn, where the meal was served in the parlor and the landlord's daughter waited upon us. The plump black horse drew us to the railway station, and we took the train for London.
We have learned, by this time, that second, or even third-class travel was quite good enough for short journeys and that very few English people paid for first-class compartments. We were fortunate enough to have a second-class compartment to ourselves this time, and, when we were seated, Hephzy asked a question.
“Did you think to speak about the golf, Hosy?” she said. “You will want to play some, won't you?”