He must surely have been gratified by the sensation he produced. The girls embraced him, hanging upon his words with eagerness, as on the accents of the recovered relative of the melodrama. Mrs. Effingham greeted him with an amount of warmth foreign to her usual demeanour. The little ones held up their faces to be kissed by ‘Uncle Harley.’
‘We are just going to have our first breakfast,’ said Annabel. ‘Sit down this very minute. Haven’t we done wonders?’
Indeed, by the fresh, morning light, the parlour already looked homelike and attractive. The breakfast table, ‘decored with napery,’ as Caleb Balderstone phrased it, had a delicately clean and appetising appearance. A brimming milk jug showed that the herbage of Warbrok had not been without its effect upon their fellow-passenger from the Channel Islands. A goodly round of beef, their last roadside purchase, constituted the pièce de résistance. A dish of eggs and bacon, supplied by Mrs. Evans, whose poultry travelled with her everywhere, and looked upon the waggon as their home, added to the glory of the repast. A large loaf of fresh bread, baked by the same useful matron, stood proudly upon a plate, near the roadside tea equipage, and a kettle like a Russian samovar. Nor was artistic ornamentation wholly absent. Annabel had fished up a broken vase from a lumber room, which, filled with the poor remnants of the borders, ‘where once a garden smiled,’ and supplemented with ‘wild buttercups and very nearly daisies,’ as she described the native flora, made an harmonious contribution.
Before commencing the meal, as Mr. Effingham took his seat at the head of his own table once more, humble as were the surroundings, his wife glanced at the youngest darling, Blanche. She ran across to a smaller table covered with a rug, and thence lifting off a volume of some weight, brought it to their guest. His eyes met those of his old comrade and of her his life’s faithful companion. The chaplain’s eyes were moistened, in despite of his efforts at composure. What recollections were not summoned up by the recurrence of that simple household observance? His voice faltering, at first, with genuine emotion, Harley Sternworth took the sacred volume, and read a portion, before praying in simple phrase, that the Great Being who had been pleased to lead the steps of His servants to this far land, would guide them in all their ways, and prosper the work of their hands in their new home. ‘May His blessing be upon you all, and upon your children’s children after you, in this the land of our adoption,’ said the good priest, as he arose in the midst of the universal amen.
‘Do you know that it was by no means too warm when I left Yass at daylight this morning? This is called a hot climate. But in our early summer we have frosts sometimes worthy of Yorkshire. Yesterday there was rather a sharp one. We shall have rain again soon.’
‘Oh, I hope not,’ said Annabel. ‘This is such lovely, charming weather. So clear and bright, and not at all too warm. I should like it to last for months.’
‘Then, my dear young lady, we should all be ruined. Rain rarely does harm in this country. Sometimes there are floods, and people who live on meadowlands suffer. But the more rain the merrier, in this country at least. It is a land of contradictions, you know. Your Lake William, here, will never overflow, so you may be easy in your minds, if it rains ever so hard.’
‘And what does my thoughtful young friend, Rosamond, think of the new home?’ inquired the old gentleman, looking at her with affectionate eyes.
‘She thinks, Uncle Sternworth, that nothing better for us all could have been devised in the wide world, unless the Queen had ordered her Ministers to turn out Sir Percy de Warrenne and put us in possession of Old Court. Even that, though Sir Percy is a graceless kinsman, might not have been so good for us, as making a home for ourselves here, out of our own heads, as the children say.’
‘And you are quite satisfied, my dear?’