'Oh, mother, does it not all look lovely?' she exclaimed, later on that evening. She had been everywhere—to the stables, the poultry-yard, the dairy, and lastly to Mrs. Draper's room. The twilight was creeping over the gardens of Woodcote before Audrey had finished her rambles. She had been down to the lake, she had sat on 'Michael's bench,' she had looked at her favourite shrubs and flowers, and Dr. Ross smiled as he heard her gaily singing along the terraces.
'Come in, you madcap!' he said good-humouredly. 'Do you know how heavy the dews are? There, I told you so; your dress is quite damp.'
'What does it matter?' returned Audrey, with superb disdain. '"The rains of Marly do not wet!"—do you recollect that exquisite courtier-like speech?—so, no doubt, Woodcote dews are quite wholesome. Is it not delicious to be home again? And there is no more "Will you come ben?" from honest Jean, and "Will you have a sup of porridge, Miss Ross, or a few broth to keep out the cold?" "Home, home, there is no place like home!"' And then they heard her singing at the top of her fresh young voice, as she roamed through the empty rooms, some old ballad Michael had taught her:
| 'Oh, there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain, Oh, there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain; Though the heart of this world's as hard as a stane, Yet there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.' |
'Dear child!' observed her mother fondly. 'I do not think anyone ever was happier than our Audrey. She is like a sunbeam in the house, John;' and then they both paused to listen:
| 'Ye wealthy and wise in this fair world of ours, When your fields wave wi' gowd, your gardens wi' flowers, When ye bind up the sheaves, leave out a few grains To the heart-broken widow who never complains.' |