"And to teach us how to find musherrooms," said Dick, quite satisfied he had got the hard word right this time.
Fernimoor turned out to be very nice, quite as nice as the boys' pleasantest fancies had pictured it. The old-fashioned house was the funniest and prettiest in the world, so was the garden, and the uncle and aunt were the kindest and nicest of old uncles and aunts. There was only one disappointment—and that was the mushrooms!
There had been a good crop of them, said Auntie, a week or two ago, but since then it had been so dry—the whole season had been unusually dry—that there were none at all. Possibly in another ten days or so, if it rained, there might be another crop, but then one scarcely dared wish for rain, it would be so bad for the harvest.
So Mamma and her two little squires wandered about the fields in vain, seeking for the pretty creamy egg-like balls among the grass, which Mamma had so often described.
"It can't be helped," she said. "It's better than if it had done nothing but rain. That would have spoilt our visit, even if we had had basketfuls of mushrooms."
But Lancey and Dick didn't seem quite sure that they agreed with her. They had got the idea of mushrooms so in their heads that I don't think they would have grumbled even if it had rained.
"If only there are some before Mamma's birthday, it won't matter so much," said hopeful little Dick.
Mamma's birthday was the thirteenth of September, and that year it fell on a Monday. All Friday and Saturday it had rained—really poured—and every one was surprised that Lancey and Dick did not grumble at it. By Sunday morning it cleared, and Lancey who was dressed first, ran out into the garden for a stroll before breakfast. Here he met a friend of his—an under-gardener, who had come to do some little piece of work about the hot-houses, which could not be neglected even on Sunday.
"Fine morning, Master Lancey," said the lad. "My, how it did pour yesterday!"