This last labour of love she performed very slowly, stopping to peep into every volume as she dusted it. The Latin and Greek authors were quickly disposed of, and the huge tomes of divinity scarcely attracted any notice, but some fine works on botany and natural history chained her attention. The plates were so beautiful that, in spite of sundry implied remonstrances from Mrs. Martin, who was fidgetty lest the vicar should arrive before all was completed, she could not resist the temptation of looking at them, and even called in Harry and little Johnnie to share her delight.
"I like the lions best," said little Johnnie. "I don't care for that big pussie-cat with the green eyes and the long tail. It looks as if it could scratch," and he put his fat fingers vigorously down upon the Bengal tiger.
"Yes, and eat you afterwards," said Harry. "I don't like lions and tigers. I love these beautiful flowers, they make me think of the angels, they look so pure and lovely, and darling Dorothy loves them too," and he leaned his head back upon Dorothy's white arm, and looked earnestly up into her smiling face. Dorothy pressed the little curly head fondly against her breast.
"Harry, we will get Mr. Fitzmorris to tell us all about the pretty flowers; I don't know our favourites with these hard names. Flowers are among God's best gifts to man. They have wonderful secrets of their own, and, besides the innocent pleasure they give to every true heart, possess in themselves a remedy for almost every disease. That reminds me that I have yet to fill the china vase for the table. Come and help me, Harry, for your tastes and mine always agree."
The two happy children, for Dorothy was still a child in heart, ran down into the garden, hand in hand, and soon selected a splendid bouquet of sweet spring blossoms, which Dorothy grouped with artistic taste, and left in the centre of the table. A beautiful object, which put the finishing touch to the exquisitely neat adornments of the small apartment. She did not wait for the arrival of its future occupant, but took her way home through the lonely lane that wound round the heath to the Farm.
"I wonder what sort of a man he is?" said Dorothy, thinking of the new vicar, "whether he be old or young, plain or good-looking. If he resembles the Earl, I cannot fail to like him. Lord Wilton, though getting up in years, is the most interesting and the handsomest man I have ever seen."
Her speculations were abruptly dispelled, by a large Newfoundland dog brushing past her, and she looked up and blushed to find herself face to face with a strange gentleman, whose clerical dress left no doubts in her mind as to his identity.
The person she was thinking about was before her.
He was a man of middle stature, not stout, but with a strong muscular frame and the unmistakable bearing of a gentleman, who stopping directly in her path, asked in a very unromantic and practical manner, "if he was in the right road that led to the parsonage?"
Dorothy answered with some confusion, as if she suspected that the stranger had read her thoughts.