CHAPTER X.
POOR GEOFF!
e drove into the yard, where Matthew's disagreeable face and voice soon greeted him. Half forgetting himself, Geoff threw the reins on to the pony's neck and jumped out of the cart, with his carpet-bag. He was making his way into the house, feeling as if even the old bag was a kind of comfort in its way, when the farm-man called him back.
"Dost think I's to groom pony?" he said ill-naturedly. "May stand till doomsday afore I'll touch him."
Geoff turned back. Of course, he ought to have remembered it was his work, and if Matthew had spoken civilly he would even have thanked him for the reminder—more gratefully, I dare say, than he had often thanked Elsa or Frances for a hint of some forgotten duty. But, as it was, it took some self-control not to "fly out," and to set to work, tired as he was, to groom the pony and put him up for the night. It was all so strange and new too; at Colethorne's he had watched the stablemen at their work, and thought it looked easy and amusing, but when it came to doing it, it seemed a very different thing, especially in the dusk, chilly evening, and feeling as he did both tired and hungry. He did his best, however, and the old pony was very patient, poor beast, and Geoff's natural love of animals stood him in good stead; he could never have relieved his own depression by ill temper to any dumb creature. And at last old Dapple was made as comfortable as Geoff knew how, for Matthew took care to keep out of the way, and to offer no help or advice, and the boy turned towards the house, carpet-bag in hand.
The fire was blazing brightly in the kitchen, and in front of it sat the farmer, smoking a long clay pipe, which to Geoff smelt very nasty. He coughed, to attract Mr. Eames's attention.
"I've brought my bag from the station," he said. "Will you tell me where I'm to sleep?"