“I don’t agree with you,” she said. “The first and principal thing to consider is what is best for the lord of Avonsyde. A private road just through these lands would be a great acquisition, and therefore for that reason you will have to undertake the work by and by.”
Phil’s eyes still looked grave and anxious.
“Do you think, then—are you quite sure that I am really the heir, Aunt Griselda?” he said.
Miss Griselda smiled and patted his cheek.
“Well, my boy, you ought to know best,” she said. “Your mother assures me that you are.”
“Oh, yes—poor mother!” answered Phil. “Aunt Griselda,” he continued suddenly, “if you were picturing an heir to yourself, you wouldn’t think of a boy like me, would you?”
“I don’t know, Phil. I do picture you in that position very often. Your Aunt Katharine and I have had a weary search, but at last you have come, and I may say that, on the whole, I am satisfied. My dear boy, we have been employed for six years over this search, and sometimes I will own that I have almost despaired. Katharine never did; but then she is romantic and believes in the old rhyme.”
“What old rhyme?” asked Phil.
“Have you not heard it? It is part and parcel of our house and runs in different couplets, but the meaning is always the same:
“‘Come what may come, tyde what may tyde,
Lovel shall dwell at Avonsyde.’”