"I did," I answered, triumphantly. "He suggested we would want them, and I paid him for them, and for oil for the lamps too, so that's all right."
"You have done well," said my wife, and I thought so myself.
August 12th found us duly landed at Eastnor station, and furtively raking out our belongings from the piles of other people's. At last they were all collected, and I chartered a carriage and a porter's cart to convey us and our luggage to Sandybank Cottage.
Mr. Joseph Scorer met us at the door, and we forthwith took possession. The kitchen fire was lighted, the coal was there, and the milk, and the bread, and oil.
Everything was as nice as it could be.
The luggage was carried in, and we settled down to a month's solid enjoyment and undisputed possession of our new abode.
Mr. Scorer was solicitous of our comfort. He altered the inventory in one or two minor points, in respect of articles broken by our predecessors. He dug enough potatoes for next week's dinners, and cut two plump cabbages. He collected his £4 15s., half the balance of the rent, and departed, followed by the blessings of the entire family, save those members who were already knee deep in the ocean just the other side of the garden patch.
"This is simply splendid," said my wife, beaming at me in the way I like; "it seems almost too good to be true."
She was right.
Next morning was magnificent. My wife went out to buy up the town. All the rest of us plunged into the sea, except the servant, Amelia Blatt, who was rapidly converting herself into a negress over the intricacies of the strange little range in the kitchen.