He laughed recklessly at the thought.
He had all the time there was!
Was he not—on strike—taking a holiday?
At the house, at the bottom of the lane, the carriage gate, as usual, stood wide open.
The King drove straight up the drive, where the rhododendron bushes, and the laburnum trees were ablaze with colour, and, round the side of the house, into the garage.
No one was visible in the garden, about the house, or in the outbuildings beyond.
In the silence which followed his shutting off of the engine of the car, he heard the whir of haycutting machines.
They were haymaking, of course.
Judith herself, who, far more than Uncle Bond, was really responsible for the management of the Home Farm, would be at work in the fields, holding her own with the best of them, in spite of the clamorous demands of the Imps for play.
If Judith, and the Imps had been in the house, they would have run out to welcome him by now.