“Oh, perfectly. Just give me a book, so that I need not watch the scenery all the time—scenery is so unchanging! And do take care of yourselves on that horrible hillside. If that horse should shy at a snake, or anything, where would you be?”
“I should be lost in astonishment if that steed shied at anything whatever,” said her husband, laughing. “If ever there were a town mouse—!” He arranged her pillows, gave her a book, and went off with long strides.
Barry was encountered sitting on a log by the wayside. He greeted his father with something of relief.
“Jolly good of you to come back,” he said, climbing into the buggy. “My legs aren’t what they were before I had measles. Mother all right?”
“Oh, yes—it is not a severe sprain. We came off uncommonly well.”
“I expect she’s pining for home,” said Barry. “Is the farm very awful? I can’t imagine Mother in a farm-house.”
“Wait until you see it,” Dr. Lane chuckled. “We fell on our feet, Barry—you’ll have to mind your manners.”
Barry sniffed.
“I expect my manners are good enough for this part of the world,” he said, loftily. “The hotel people were very decent: they said a car with our things would be out pretty soon. Gee, I could do with a cup of tea! I found a bit of a pool and washed my face, but the water didn’t look good enough to drink. Have we far to go?”
“We’re nearly there.” They came in sight of Hill Farm as Dr. Lane spoke. Above them, in the little paddock near the house, could be seen Robin, carrying in each hand a kerosene-tin bucket, and surrounded by an excited retinue of little pigs and a Jersey calf.