I was young and healthy, and I perfectly revelled in the country sights and sounds with which I was surrounded. I hardly knew which I enjoyed most—the long delicious mornings on the beach, when I sat under the breakwater taking care of Reggie, or the afternoons in the orchard, with the brown bees humming round the hives and the children playing with Fidgets on the grass, while the old white pony looked over the fence at us, and the sheep nibbled at our side. I used to send Hannah home for an hour or two while I watched over the children; it was hard for her to be so near home and not enjoy Molly’s company; and those summer afternoons were lazy times for all of us.
I think Miss Cheriton added largely to my happiness. I had never had a friend since my school-days, and it was refreshing to me to come in contact with this bright young creature. I was a little too grave for my age, and I felt she did me good.
I soon found she resembled my mistress in one thing: she was very unselfish, and thought more of other people’s pleasures than her own. She used to say herself that it was only a sublime sort of selfishness that she liked to see everyone happy round her. “A gloomy face hinders all enjoyment,” was her constant remark. But I never knew anyone who excelled more in little kindly acts. She would bring me fruit or flowers almost daily; and when she found I was fond of reading, she selected books for me she thought I should like.
When Mrs. Markham did not use the carriage—a very rare occasion, as she had almost a monopoly of it—she would take us for long country drives, and she would contrive all sorts of little surprises for us. Once when we returned from a saunter in the lanes, we found our tea table laid in the orchard, and Miss Cheriton presiding, in a gay little hat trimmed with cornflowers and poppies. There was a basket of flowers in the centre of the table, and a heap of red and yellow fruit. We had quite a little feast that evening, and all the time we were sitting there, there were broods of chickens running over the grass, that Gay had enticed into the orchard to please the children, and grey rabbits, and an old lame duck that was her pensioner, and went by the name of Cackles.
“Oh, auntie, do have another feast,” Joyce would say to her, almost daily; but Miss Cheriton could not always be with us; visitors were very plentiful at Marshlands, and Gay’s company was much courted by the young people of Netherton and Orton-upon-Sea.
I knew Mr. Hawtry was a constant visitor, for we often met him in our walks; and it seemed to me that his face was always set in the direction of Marshlands.
When Rolf was with us he was never allowed to pass without notice, and then he would stop and speak to the children, especially to Joyce, who soon got over her shyness with him.
“Mother says Mr. Hawtry comes to see Aunt Gay,” Rolf remarked once, when he was out of hearing; “she told grandpapa so one day, and asked him if it would not be a good thing; and grandpapa laughed and nodded; you know his way. What did mother mean?”
“No doubt she meant that Mr. Hawtry was a kind friend,” I returned, evasively. How is one to silence a precocious child? But of course it was easy to understand Mrs. Markham’s hint.
I wondered sometimes if Mr. Hawtry were a favoured suitor. He and Miss Cheriton certainly seemed on the best of terms; she always seemed glad to see him, but her manner was very frank with him.