The last night had come. The children had gone away to the woods to get some sprigs from a beautiful vine, without which Jessie did not consider her floral decorations perfect, and Mrs Inglis and David were awaiting them alone. They were in the garden, which was a very pretty place, and never prettier than on that evening, David thought. Ned’s gardening was a great improvement on his of the old days, he willingly acknowledged. Indeed, since their coming back to Gourlay, Ned had given himself to the arranging and keeping of the garden, in a way that proved the possession of true artistic taste, and also of that which is as rare, and as necessary to success in gardening and in other things—great perseverance. His success was wonderful, and all the more so that for the last few years the flower-garden, at least, had been allowed to take its own way as to growing and blossoming, and bade fair when they came to be a thicket of balsam, peonies, hollyhocks, and other hardy village favourites. But Ned saw great possibilities of beauty in it, compared with the three-cornered morsel that had been the source of so much enjoyment in Singleton, and having taken Philip into his confidence, there came from time to time seeds, roots, plants and cuttings to his heart’s content.
He had determined to have the whole in perfect order by the time of the coming of Violet and the rest, and by dint of constant labour on his part, and the little help he got from David or any one else who could be coaxed into his service for the time, he had succeeded wonderfully, considering all things. It was perfect in neatness, and it was rich in flowers that had never opened under a Gourlay sun till now. It was to be a surprise to Violet and Jem, and looking at it with their eyes, David exclaimed again and again in admiration of its order and beauty.
“But they won’t see it to-night, unless they come soon,” said he. “However, it will look all the better with the morning sun upon it. Does it seem like home to you, mamma?—the old home?”
“Yes—with a difference,” said his mother.
“Ah, yes! But you are glad to be here, mamma? You would rather have your home in Gourlay than anywhere else?”
“Yes, I am glad our home is here. God has been very good to us, Davie.”
“Mamma, it is wonderful! If our choice had been given us, we could not have desired anything different.”
His mother smiled.
“God’s way is best, and this will seem more like home than any other place could seem to those who must go away. I cannot expect to keep my children always.”
“Any place would be home to us where you were, mamma. But I am glad you are here—and you don’t grudge us to our work in the world?”