“No, my love,” the old lady interrupted, “let me have this little one which is next it. When you require the other, if I am still with you, I can lock the door between. The best one is too grand for me; but sometimes while it is empty I will go in, if you have no objection, and look out at the fir trees and the road that stretches right and left——”
“I like doing that,” Florence interrupted. “It always sets me thinking—the road from the city to the sea.”
“From the city to the sea,” the old lady repeated; “from the voices to the silences.”
“Aunt Anne, we mustn’t grow sentimental,” Florence began. There was the sound of a tinkling bell. It seemed to come at an opportune moment. “Oh, happy sound,” she laughed; “it means that our meal is ready. Catty, darling,” she called, “Monty, my son, roast chicken is waiting downstairs. Auntie and mummy are quite ready; come, dear babes”—and patter, patter, came the sound of the little feet, and together they all went down.
An hour later the fly came to the door; it was time for Florence to start on her way back to town.
“I shall be with you at latest on Tuesday. Perhaps, dear Aunt Anne, if you don’t mind taking care of the bad children so long, I may go on Saturday for a day or two to an old schoolfellow,” she said. “Then I should not be here till the middle of next week.”
“Dear child, you do indeed put confidence in me,” Mrs. Baines answered quaintly.
“And, Aunt Anne, I have ordered most things in, but the tradespeople come every day if there is anything more you want. What you order is, of course, put down, but here is some money for odds and ends. Four pounds, I think, will carry you through; and here is a little book in which to put down your expenses. I always keep a most careful account of what I spend; you don’t mind doing so either, do you?”
“My love, anything you wish will be a pleasure to me.”
“If you please, ma’am,” said Jane, entering, “the driver says you must start at once if you want to catch this train.”