CHAPTER X
THE RUSH-BEARING
'Heigho! daises and buttercups,
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall,
A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure,
And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall!
Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure,
God that is over us all.'—Jean Ingelow.
Mildred soon became accustomed to Dr. Heriot's constant presence about the house, and the slight restraint she had at first felt rapidly wore off.
She soon looked upon it as a matter of course to see him at least three evenings in the week; loneliness was not to his taste, and in consequence, when he was not otherwise engaged, he generally shared their evening meal at the vicarage, and remained an hour afterwards, talking to Mr. Lambert or Richard. Mildred ceased to start with surprise at finding him in the early morning turning over the books in her brother's study, or helping Polly and Chriss in their new fernery. Polly was made happy by frequent invitations to her guardian's house, where she soon made herself at home, coming back to Mildred with delightful accounts of how her guardian had allowed her to dust his books and mend his gloves; and how he had approved of the French coffee she had made him.
One afternoon Chriss and she had been in the kitchen, concocting all sorts of delicious messes, which Dr. Heriot, Cardie, and Roy were expected to eat afterwards.
Dr. Heriot gave an amusingly graphic account of the feast afterwards to Mildred, and his old housekeeper's astonishment at 'them nasty and Frenchified dishes.'
Polly had carried in the omelette herself, and placed it with a flushed, triumphant face before him, her dimpled elbows still whitened with flour; the dishes were all charmingly garlanded with flowers and leaves—tiny breast-knots of geranium and heliotrope lay beside each plate. Polly had fastened a great cream-coloured rose into Olive's drooping braids, which she wore reluctantly.
'I wish you could have seen it all, Miss Lambert; it was the prettiest thing possible; they had transformed my bachelor's den into a perfect bower. Roy must have helped them, and given some of his artistic touches. There were great trailing sprays of ivy, and fern-fronds in my terra-cotta vases, and baskets of wild roses and ox-eyed daisies; never was my fête day so charmingly inaugurated before. The worst of it was that Polly expected me to taste all her dishes in succession; and Chriss insisted on my eating a large slice of the frosted cake.'