“I daresay that if you had propounded the idea to me at first I should have said ‘No’ flatly,” he admitted. “But I haven’t the heart to disturb them all now—and, frankly, I’m too thankful. If you’ll let me pay you rent——”
“Certainly not!” said Mr. Linton, looking astonished and indignant. “We don’t run our place on those lines. Just put it out of your head that we have anything to do with it. You’re taking nothing from us—only from a man who died very cheerfully because he was able to do five minutes’ work towards helping the War. He’s helping it still if his money makes it easier for fellows like you; and I believe, wherever he is, he knows and is glad.”
“But there are others who may need it more,” said Hunt weakly.
“If there are, I haven’t met them yet,” Mr. Linton responded. He glanced out of the window. “Look there now, Hunt!”
Norah had slipped away, leaving the men to talk. Now she came riding up the broad gravel path across the lawn, on the black pony: leading the fat Welsh pony, with Geoffrey on his back. The small boy sat very straight, with his hands well down. His flushed little face sought anxiously for his father’s at the window.
Major Hunt uttered a delighted exclamation.
“I didn’t know my urchin was so advanced,” he said. “Well done, old son!” He scanned him keenly. “He doesn’t sit too badly, Mr. Linton.”
“He’s not likely to do so, with Norah as his teacher. But Norah says he doesn’t need much teaching, and that he has naturally good hands. She’s proud of him. I think,” said Mr. Linton, laughing, “that they have visions of hunting together this winter!”
“I must go out and see him,” said the father, catching up his cap. Mr. Linton watched him cross the lawn with quick strides: and turned, to find Mrs. Hunt at his elbow.
“Well—he doesn’t look much like an invalid, Madam!” he said, smiling.