“There are some horrid little boys stealing the strawberries,” she said.
“What! are they there still? They began an hour ago. I gave them leave.”
“And they have been picking some of the green peaches that were coming on so nicely.”
“They'll enjoy them green better than we shall enjoy them ripe,” said Matthew. “So let them be.”
“I sha'n't. They'll be ill,” said Miss Lanyon, with spirit.
The old man went off to distribute halfpence among the children as a sort of compensation for loss of stomach aches, and his sister carried off Dorothy.
“Dorothy,” she said on the way, “your grandfather is a saint.”
“You said he was the worry of your life to-day,” said Dorothy.
“Because he's too good, dear. We're none of us good enough for him,” said Miss Lanyon.
Matthew returned to the seat and slowly divested himself of his flowers, giving himself up for the moment to the peaceful charm of the afternoon hour. The place was dear to him. It was more or less the creation of his life. It was a small house in a little garden when he had brought his wife to Ayresford. And he had added on to both, bit by bit, building a wing, buying a few adjacent acres, until it had come to be a large property perfectly laid out.