“There’s the forest,” shouted Ted, leaning back from his seat in front, and pointing to a long ridge of trees which seemed to stretch to the low horizon beyond the open fields.
“When we’re over the bridge we’re on the—the property,” yelled Ted.
We lurched over the bridge, and presently the forest came along the water’s edge to meet us, and we turned sharply through an open gateway into a private road.
Such trees I had never seen. They stood in stately groups of birch and oak and pine with broad glades of grass and yellowing bracken between them.
“Ancient deer park once,” shouted Ted. “Shall be again.”
Essie paid little attention to him. We had made a very early start, and she was tired. She leaned back in the car with half closed eyes.
The trees retreated on each side of the road, and the wonderful old house came suddenly into sight, standing above its long terrace with its stone balustrade.
Ted gave a sort of yelp.
“Oh Essie!” I cried. “Look—look! It’s perfect.”