“So grand that I am afraid the churchwardens will have serious doubts as to the school funds,” said the vicar, laughing. “I have twenty pounds in hand at the present moment, and really—”
“Oh, don’t be a goose! Of course, everyone will guess that it is a present. I shall say so myself on every opportunity. But who from? Who can have thought of such a thing?” Her eyes turned with sudden questioning to the two girls. “Ruth, Mollie—did you?”
“Indeed, no! I didn’t think of it, I am sorry to say!” said Ruth; and added honestly, “I am too hard up to pay for all those lovely things!”
“And you know nothing about it, really?”
“Really and truly, not a thing!”
“You don’t think that perhaps the squire—”
Mollie recalled the snubbing which she had received on suggesting the improvements to the vicarage, coupled with the various cynical remarks to which Mr Farrell had given utterance on the subject of this very garden-party, and felt convinced that he was not the anonymous donor; but these things were not to be repeated, so she remained silent, while Ruth and Mrs Thornton wondered and speculated.
No one could be thought of more likely than the squire, for the parishioners, as a rule, were not overburdened with money, nor the few who were, with generosity.
“I have never had such a thing done for me all the years I have been here—never once!” cried Mrs Thornton, waxing almost tearful in her excess of gratitude. “And to send it anonymously, too—so modest and unassuming! The dear, kind, thoughtful creature. I shall never rest until I know who it is?”