“The frocks are cheap—they cost sixpence three farthings a yard!”
Mr Amberley got up impatiently.
“I have got to study a passage from Josephus,” he said, “which has puzzled me for some little time; and I don’t care a penny piece whether your frocks cost six-and-sixpence or sixpence halfpenny a yard. I don’t know what a yard means. Leave me now, Nina. I am quite cool, and shall set to work to write a specially good sermon for Sunday. The parishioners want a new sermon, for I have given them the old ones for over a year and I am in the mood to-day. Dear Brenda sometimes helps me with my sermons, but of late I have not found her amenable in that respect. She has a most lively imagination and often throws a fresh light on a text which I myself do not perceive. But go away and hem your frills, and be thankful that you have a good father who can allow you a nice sum each to buy clothes, and an excellent—most excellent governess, who devotes herself to you.”
“She will be home at twelve to-night: are you going to sit up for her?” said Nina.
“Of course I am—poor girl. Do you think I wouldn’t do what I could to show how I appreciate her—how we all appreciate her? I am going to make her a Welsh rabbit for her supper: it is the one dainty that I can make to perfection.”
“Oh, papa!” said Nina, bursting out laughing; “I don’t believe there’s a scrap of cheese in the house!”
The Reverend Josiah made no response to this, but a slightly knowing expression crossed his sandy face, and Nina had to leave him. In truth, she did not want to stay any longer, for she had got the information she desired.
The rectory at Harroway was by no means well furnished. It was a large, rambling old house. What carpets there were bore traces of wear and tear. The sofas were covered with untidy and torn chintzes. The landings had many of them bare boards destitute of any covering whatsoever; the bedrooms were en suite with the rest of the house. But the garden, neglected as it was, was nevertheless a source of unfailing delight. It was an old garden, and had once been dearly loved and carefully tended by a rector who cared more for his flowers than for the souls committed to his care. In his day, roses had bloomed to perfection in this old-world garden, and all sorts of plants and flowers and shrubs had adorned the alleys and had cast their shade over the walks.
This was some time ago, and the Reverend Josiah only employed a man once a week to give the garden just a sort of outside semblance of order. Nevertheless, Nature did not quite forsake the old spot. The unpruned roses still threw out luxuriant blossom, and the shrubs still bloomed and every sort of perennial flower—poppies, sweet peas, jasmine, mignonette sowed themselves and blossomed again and yet again.
Now, the children cared nothing about flowers; they regarded them as little better than weeds, for anything that could be secured without money was to them simply worthless. Neither did they care for pets. There was no dog, nor even a cat, at the rectory. But they liked to sit under the shade of the old trees and, in particular, to invade the summerhouse, which stood back in deepest shade at the far corner of the grounds.