“Where’s that boy of yours, Mrs. Murchison?”
“Jack?”
“Yes.”
“He was hunting the strawberry-beds half an hour ago.”
“Tell him,” and the Canon chuckled, “tell him I am not too big yet—for a tub.”
“Oh, Canon Stensly—”
“My dear Mrs. Murchison, I said many a truer thing when I was a boy. Children strike home. To have his vanity chastened, let a man listen to children.”
The big man with the massive head and the broad British chest had gone. Husband and wife were sitting alone under the cherry-tree.
“You told him—all?”
“All, Kate.”