“If you please, Mr. Knowles, sir,” he said, “I'll 'arness, but I can't drive, sir. I am netting the gooseberries. Perhaps you might get a man from the Inn stables, unless you or the young lady might wish to drive yourselves.”
I did not wish to drive, having the golf engagement; but when I walked to the Inn I found no driver available. So, rather than be disagreeable, I sent word to the curate that our match was postponed, and accepted the alternative.
Frances, rather to my surprise, seemed more pleased than otherwise to find that I was to be her coachman. Instead of occupying the rear seat she climbed to that beside me.
“Good-by, Auntie,” she called to Hephzy, who was standing in the doorway. “Sorry you're not going. I'll take good care of Mr. Knowles—Uncle Hosea, I mean. I'll see that he behaves himself and,” with a glance at my, I fear, not too radiant visage, “doesn't break any of his venerable bones.”
The road, like all English roads which I traveled, was as firm and smooth as a table, the day was fine, the hedges were green and fragrant, the larks sang, and the flocks of sheep in the wayside pastures were picturesque as always. “Pet,” who had led an easy life since we came to the rectory, was in high spirits and stepped along in lively fashion. My companion, too, was in good spirits and chatted and laughed as she had not done with me since I knew her.
Altogether it was a delightful ride. I found myself emerging from my shell and chatting and joking quite unlike the elderly quahaug I was supposed to be. We passed a party of young fellows on a walking tour, knapsacked and knickerbockered, and the admiring glances they passed at my passenger were flattering. They envied me, that was plain. Well, under different circumstances, I could conceive myself an object of envy. A dozen years younger, with the heart of youth and the comeliness of youth, I might have thought myself lucky to be driving along such a road with such a vision by my side. And, the best of it was, the vision treated me as if I really were her own age. I squared my shoulders and as Hephzy would have said, “perked up” amazingly.
We entered Wrayton and moved along the main street between the rows of ancient buildings, past the old stone church with its inevitable and always welcome gray, ivy-draped tower, to the quaint old square with the statue of William Pitt in its center. My companion, all at once, seemed to become aware of her surroundings.
“Why!” she exclaimed, “we are here, aren't we? Fancy! I expected a longer drive.”
“So did I,” I agreed. “We haven't hurried, either. Where has the time gone.”
“I don't know. We have been so busy talking that I have thought of nothing else. Really, I didn't know you could be so entertaining—Uncle Hosea.”