CHAPTER XV.
RETURNS TO AVONWORTH VALLEY, AND GLANCES AT MRS. SOMERTON’S SECRET.
The trees were covered with a hundred shades of brown and red and yellow. A pleasant September breeze wandered about, carrying with it here and there the report of the sportsman’s gun. Flocks of sheep cropped the sweet herbage, and crowds of happy-looking gleaners gathered the stray ears of wheat which Mr. Somerton had left in the corn-fields.
There had been an abundant harvest, and the corn was well and successfully garnered. The big yellow stacks peered out amongst the trees round about the Hall farm, and Luke Somerton sat cozily smoking his after-dinner pipe.
Peace and plenty was the prevailing characteristic of the place, and Luke Somerton was on particularly good terms, at the moment, with himself and all the world.
“I wonder how Paul is getting on,” he said, musingly, just as his wife had folded up the table-cloth and instructed her servant to “get those dinner-things washed up at once.”
“Oh, he’ll get on well enough,” said Mrs. Somerton, “if his sister doesn’t spoil him with her pack of silly letters. One would think they had nothing in the world to do but to write letters to each other.”
“Well, there’s no harm in their writing to each other; it may keep Paul out of mischief.”
“He is getting very little money for his age; he ought to have enough to keep him without assistance from us by this time. It’s little we save.”
“You think too much about saving money, Sarah. There are lots of things in life better than money.”
“You may say what you please, Luke, the great object of life should be to make money and get position. If one cannot gain it oneself, we should try to get it through our children,” said Mrs. Somerton, taking up her knitting and sitting by the window.