“Oh, bother––there, I’ve set a place for Leslie,” exclaimed Prudence in a tone of vexation. “What is that about ‘frost’ and ‘lost’?”
“Nothing, dear, I was only thinking aloud.” And Sarah Gurridge relapsed into silence, and continued to bask in the warm glow of the stove.
CHAPTER V
THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL
Grey strode away from the house in no very amiable frame of mind. A fenced-in patch, planted with blue-gums and a mass of low-growing shrubs, formed a sort of garden in front of the farm.
This enclosure was devoid of all artistic effect, but in summer-time it served as a screen to break the rigour of the wooden farm-buildings. It was a practical but incongruous piece of man’s handiwork, divided down the centre by a pathway bordered with overlapped hoopings of bent red willow switches, which, even in winter, protruded hideously above the beaten snow. The path led to a front gate of primitive and bald manufacture, but stout and serviceable, as was everything else about the farm. And this was the main approach to the house.
It was necessary for Grey, having taken his departure by the front door, to pass out through this gate in order to reach the barn where he had left his saddle-horse. He might have saved himself this trouble by leaving the house by the back door, which opened out directly opposite the entrance to the great barn. But he was in no mood for back doors; the condition of his mind demanded nothing less than a 66 dignified exit, and a dignified exit is never compatible with a back door. Had he left Loon Dyke Farm in an amiable frame of mind, much that was to happen in his immediate future might have been different.
But the writing had been set forth, and there was no altering it.