“Good-by, dear,” she said. “I must hurry off. I have to give some directions about mother’s room, and I shall try to catch the 11.10 train.”
She ran out of the room singing a light song under her breath. Dick Pelham stood for a moment where she had left him. Then, whistling to his dogs, he went out.
For the rest of the morning many duties kept him busy, for he was an ideal landlord, and looked into the smallest details himself, but he found time to see Barbara off on her expedition to Exeter. She was to drive to the station, about four miles away.
“God bless her!” said Pelham as he watched the ponies, with their ringing bells, trot down the avenue and then disappear from view. His dogs still following him, he sauntered down the avenue. He was to meet his steward within an hour, but there was still plenty of time. He had gone about a hundred yards when an old man was seen hobbling up the drive.
“Well, Crayshaw, and what do you want?” said Dick, pausing in his walk.
The old man gazed up at him with bleared and red eyes.
“You’ve got over it, and I’m glad,” he remarked.
“Got over it! Got over what? What do you mean, my good fellow?”
“It’s nigh upon the blessed Christmas, the birth of Christ, and I want to unburden my soul. I listened when I ought not.”
“You listened! What do you mean?”