He did not like to write again. He began to fear that Vicky had been mistaken in feeling so sure that his mother and Great-Uncle Hoot-Toot and Elsa and Frances were all ready to forgive him, and longing for his return. Perhaps they were all still too indignant with him to allow Vicky to write, and he sighed deeply at the thought.
"I will wait till I can ask for a holiday," he said to himself, "and then I will write and say I am coming, and if they won't see me I must just bear it. At least, I am sure mother will see me when the time comes for me to go to America, though it will be dreadful to have to wait till then."
When he got back to the house that evening, the farmer called to him. He had had a letter that morning, though Geoff had not; and had it not been getting dusk, the boy would have seen a slight twinkle in the good man's eyes as he spoke to him.
"Jim, my boy," he said, "I shall want you to do an odd job or so of work the next day or two. The new squire's coming down on Monday to look round a bit. They've been tidying up at the house; did you know?"
Geoff shook his head; he had no time for strolling about the Hall grounds except on Sundays, and on the last Sunday he had been too heavy-hearted to notice any change.
"Do you know anything of gardening?" the farmer went on. "They're very short of hands, and I've promised to help what I could. The rooms on the south side of the house are being got ready, and there's the terrace-walk round that way wants doing up sadly. With this mild weather the snowdrops and crocuses and all them spring flowers is springing up finely; there's lots of them round that south side, and Branch can't spare a man to sort them out and rake over the beds."
"I could do that," said Geoff, his eyes sparkling. "I don't know much about gardening, but I know enough for that." It was a pleasant prospect for him; a day or two's quiet work in the beautiful old garden; he would feel almost like a gentleman again, he thought to himself. "When shall I go, sir?" he went on eagerly.
"Why, the sooner the better," said Mr. Eames. "To-morrow morning. That'll give you two good days. Branch wants it to look nice, for the squire's ladies is coming with him. The south parlour is all ready. There'll be a deal to do to the house—new furniture and all the rest of it. He—the new squire's an old friend of mine and of my father's—and a good friend he's been to me," he added in a lower voice.
"Are they going to live here?" asked Geoff. He liked the idea of working there, but he rather shrank from being seen as a gardener's boy by the new squire and "the ladies." "Though it is very silly of me," he reflected; "they wouldn't look at me; it would never strike them that I was different from any other."
"Going to live here," repeated the farmer; "yes, of course. The new squire would be off his head not to live at Crickwood Bolders, when it belongs to him. A beautiful place as it is too."