Chapter I: A Move to the Country

"WELL, my dear Sara, and how are you? And the infant? I've come in for a regular good long gossip. I only got back to town last night, and two months' absence is an unheard-of thing for me!"

It was little Miss Grafton who spoke. Sara had been living in her brother's house for six months, and it was now June. She was sitting in the upstairs drawing-room by the open window. The balcony outside was gay with flowers. Inside, the room was fragrant with pots of lilies of the valley and mignonette. Sara herself always gave her friends the idea of fresh fragrance. She was in a pale blue linen gown, and she was sewing some dainty white for the chubby baby, who was sprawling on a soft rug at her feet.

"I am always delighted to see you, as you know," she said. "Come and have my chair. It is very comfortable."

"So is this one, thank you. I don't want to disturb the pretty picture before me. Bless me! How the boy has grown!"

The baby, seeing a stranger, began to whimper. Sara put down her work, and took him upon her lap. With coaxing words and smiles she comforted him. And pillowing his head on her arm, he put his thumb in his mouth, and placidly regarded the old lady in front of him.

"Isn't he a darling? Nurse had to go out and I am minding him. Well! We are going along very smoothly. I don't see much of Arnold. He is out a good deal, and is working very hard at present. He is not the same man since his wife's death, Miss Grafton. He seems restless and preoccupied. Yesterday evening he told me he had a chance of going abroad, and he thought he would take it."

"And does he want you to go with him?"

"Oh, dear no! I suppose I shall stay on here."

"Not through the very hot weather, will you?"

"It would be nice to take baby to the sea," said Sara, reflectively. "I must talk to Arnold about it."

"And how are your friends in the North? Do you hear from them still?"

"Mrs. Laird is a very regular correspondent. I heard from her this month. They have quite settled down in their new home. They went straight into the old cousin's house. I think I told you about her, did I not? I heard one pleasant bit of news. Ina, the nice girl who is with Mrs. Laird and who took my place, is just engaged to be married."

"Oh, ho! To that immaculate son, I suppose. What is his name? Gerald, isn't it?"

"Graham. No, not to him, but to his great friend, a Colonel Fleming. I am so very glad! He is such a cheery delightful little man, and so good!"

"And they are going to be married soon? She'll be leaving the old lady. What a pity she did not marry the other man, and then they could have still remained the same happy family! Do you know, at one time I was almost afraid you would have engaged yourself to him. I am sure he must have adored you."

Sara looked down at the baby in her arms. His eyes were heavy with sleep. She altered his position a little, and then was able to meet her old friend's bright eyes with equanimity.

"He and I would not have suited each other, Miss Grafton."

"Ah, Sara, my dear, you must marry! The way you hold that child makes me know you were meant for a mother. Don't be too fastidious. Don't drift into a single life as I did, because I was always waiting for an impossible bird in the bush."

Sara laughed her low happy laugh, but there was a wistful look in her eyes, which did not escape Miss Grafton.

"What a pity they have left that lovely country place by the lake and mountains!" continued the old lady. "For you and baby could have paid them a visit. I am sure they would have loved to have you. But as it is, a colliery town is not the most attractive place in summer."

"No, I don't think that place would be at all feasible," replied Sara.

A little silence fell upon them, broken by the entrance of Lacy ushering in a visitor.

And the visitor was Colonel Fleming.

"I took the chance of finding you at home. This is good."

He came forward in his usual hearty, impetuous fashion, and Sara welcomed him gladly.

She introduced him to Miss Grafton.

"I've never looked her up before," he said to the old lady in a confidential manner, "but I was up on particular business, and I wanted her advice. I always admire her taste, and it's a serious matter. Oh, don't go! I'm an old fogy and ought not to be bashful! It's the important question of an engagement ring. I've got a lot of them, in my pocket somewhere—hope I haven't lost them!"

He was pulling things furiously out of his pockets, talking hard as he did so.

"Funny to see you handling a baby! But, whether it's a baby, or sick bird, or a pot of bulbs, you always do seem made for it! Ever see such a young person for establishing herself as a protector and caretaker for every human being she comes across?"

He had turned to Miss Grafton now, who, much against her inclination, was rising to go.

"I'm sure you two will like a good talk together. No, I won't stay. I only live opposite, and can run in any time. Good-bye, my dear Sara. And I hope you will be able to give the needed help and advice."

She was out of the room as briskly as if she had never been an invalid. In the summer, Miss Grafton always revived in a most marvellous fashion.

Colonel Fleming found his packet, but there was another interruption in the entrance of the nurse who took her charge away, and Sara was now able to give her whole attention to the excited little Colonel.

"I must give you my warm congratulations," she said. "I have only just heard the news. I don't know which of you is most to be congratulated."

"That's very nice of you, but I'm a lucky man. She's so different to the usual modern girls, now isn't she? Such a thorough home-loving little soul, as unselfish as they're made! And such cheery company for an old duffer like myself. Do you think I'm too old for her? She says she doesn't like young men. And I'll give her a happy time, God helping me, such as she has never had before!"

"It's delightful," said Sara. "I hoped you two would come together. She is a darling, and is so true and constant to those she loves."

"She's tons too good for me," said Colonel Fleming.

And then he produced his case of rings, fingering them doubtfully.

"I came off at once. I was determined to get her a nice one, and then I thought of you—if old Lambert hadn't known me all his life, he might have thought I was going to rob him! I caught up this case—told him I would be back in an hour's time—hailed a taxi in passing, and here I am! Now, what do you think I ought to give her? Pearls are more her sort, aren't they? I always think diamonds are vulgarized by the kind who wear them. But I like this old emerald and diamonds. What do you think? Will you choose for her?"

Sara bent her mind to the task. They finally selected a beautiful pearl ring with a diamond in the centre. That business over, he settled down to talk.

"We have missed you, 'pon my word we have. And Ina is quaking now as to what her duty is. She feels you left Mrs. Laird to her as a trust, and she at first—would you believe it?—wouldn't listen to me, said Mrs. Laird had been so good and kind to her that she couldn't leave her. She got quite distressed, so I let the matter drop, and then got hold of Graham on the sly, and he told his mother, and she of course made it all right. I can't get over the change in Mrs. Laird, I really can't! She isn't the same woman. Why, she's visiting some of the old people round her and taking the greatest interest in all her neighbours!"

"I'm so glad! And how is Mr. Laird getting on in his new sphere?"

The Colonel hesitated.

"He's not himself at all. Can't make the chap out. Look here, you and I are chums, you know! You won't take offence. I guessed what had happened—and Graham let out to me the trouble—and though I see your point, I'm awfully disappointed—he's such a good fellow—except perhaps the one thing—but, do you know, I think he poses as being more indifferent than he really is about religion. He takes his mother to church now as a regular thing.

"What I can't understand is the hold Mrs. Jeffery has over him. That little woman never leaves him alone for a week at a time. She's always writing to him, or sending for him—and she's moved up to Chester now—within a few hours' reach of him by train, and the amount of business she and he do together would appal you! I always told you that she's after him! And I suppose you don't care. I don't often feel afraid of women, but she does give me the squirms! If Graham is fool enough to marry her, he will rue it. His mother and I are kindred spirits on that point. I can see she is very uneasy."

"Are you staying in town for long?" Sara asked, wishing to change the subject.

"I go to-morrow—am putting up at my club for the night."

"I have not asked yet where you have settled?"

"I've got an awfully snug little place—couldn't cotton to the town, so scoured the suburbs and country round. And one day I found what I wanted, only two miles out, but it lies in the corner of the moor in a sheltered hollow—is called Beckdale Hollow. An artist fellow built it—thatched roof—and a big studio which I have turned into a kind of hall, and the garden is well-stocked and secluded, and the stables' yard. I'm going to keep some live stock—a cow and fowls and piggeries, etcetera, but I'm not going to farm—have had enough of that. I have taken over a colliers' club and am running it—and on Sundays I go in and meet them—not as a parson, but a friend—and then I give them a little Sunday talk, and we have singing. You should hear those chaps sing! And I do a lot of odd jobs for Graham—quite good for me to keep me from getting rusty."

"And soon," said Sara, smiling, "you will have a dear little wife to take care of, and will no longer be lonely in your home. Oh, I am very, very glad for you both!"

"I knew you would be."

His voice softened—

"If you only knew the loneliness of the past years! I can hardly believe in my good fortune! I shall have her love always in my future now! My cup runs over, doesn't it?"

"You deserve it."

He shook his head.

"Well—I must get back with these rings, or I shall have the police on my track. Any messages? I've got the picture of you photographed on my brain—here in this pretty room, in your blue gown, and the sleeping baby in your arms—a good thing for you to have the interest of him, eh? You're looking a trifle thin! Miss the keen air on those hills, eh? London soon takes an outer rim off one!"

"Give them my dear love," said Sara, the light coming to her eyes; "and—and Colonel Fleming—I speak plainly like yourself—don't forget Mr. Laird in your new happiness. He is a lonely man too remember, and a more difficult nature to understand than—than yours. Don't let him feel you're not interested in him. Don't drive him into Mrs. Jeffery's arms!"

Colonel Fleming shot a keen glance at her.

"I believe he's there already!" he blurted out. "But bless your kind little soul! Graham and I are old pals. I'll stick to him as I always have. Wife or no wife. Good-bye—awfully nice seeing you again. May I look you up when I'm next in town? And I say—remember you're booked for the wedding. Coming off in September, I believe. Don't you fail us!"

He was out of the room before he had finished speaking.

He had brought Sara a whiff of the old life; and the ache at her heart made itself felt. How she longed to go back with him! But she resolutely set herself to think of other things. Vain regrets would not be profitable, she assured herself. She had acted as she felt right; she must not torture herself now by questioning her decision. She could only pray and hope that Graham would not rush recklessly into taking a step that he would afterwards regret.

And then, as she sat dreaming by the open window, her brother came in, and claimed her attention.

"Sara, Talbot Gray is going out to the Rockies for a year. He wants me to go with him."

"And are you going?" Sara asked, looking up with a smile. "You told me last night you might have the chance of going abroad. I suppose this is it?"

"Yes. Will you mind? I can't settle to my work. I think a year's break will do me good. Will you look after my boy?"

"Assuredly I will. I think you are wise, Arnold. You will come back fresh and ready for your work again. But now we must talk business. What about this house? Could we not let it? I have got a little tired of town life. Baby and I will be better and happier in the country."

"Really? Surely you would have more friends in town?"

"I think not, and running this house is an expense, and rather an unnecessary one. Let me find a small cottage in the country, and take nurse and another good servant. May I?"

"If you would prefer it, of course. Sara, why don't you marry?"

He spoke abruptly, and Sara looked up at him with astonishment in her eyes.

"Why should you ask me such a question?"

"Because you're too good to be wasted," said her brother promptly. "You're one of the women in the world who have the art of making men really comfortable. My poor little wife never had it. Things were always going wrong and worrying her to death. Nothing ever seems to go wrong when you're in a house, or else you have the art of hiding it away from us men!"

Sara laughed merrily—

"You poor men! You do value a life of comfort, don't you? It won't hurt you to miss your home comforts, Arnold, for a while! But, joking apart, I thank you for the compliment paid me. And I assure you that I am perfectly happy in my single state, and wish nothing better than to go on making people comfortable. Now then, let us talk about the money part of this plan of yours. How much will your trip cost? How much can you afford to leave me?"

Brother and sister were soon deep in calculation. Sara never made a fuss about any impending changes. She immediately adapted herself to her new circumstances. But when she went to bed that night, she did have a few lonely reflections.

"I shall miss him dreadfully. To be shut up with a baby and two servants, and have no sensible intellect with which I can exchange a few sentiments will be a trial. But, after all, I have the darling boy to train, and I am not a person without resources. Yes, I think I will venture upon the country. It will suit us better, especially in the hot weather coming!"

Her brother rapidly made his arrangements to leave.

At the last moment in parting, he looked at his sister with affectionate scrutinizing eyes.

"You have been an angel to leave your own life, and come back to me. And I'm making you a shabby return by going off away from you. But I felt that you were wasting yourself on some second-rate uninteresting people, so that made me bold in asking you to leave them."

"They are not second-rate," said Sara, quickly; "I count them as dear friends now."

"Do you want to go back to them?"

"No, I can never do that."

"You see, Sara, the fact is I can't settle down. The house reminds me so of her! I have got to hate every room in it. It has been different since you came, but I feel still that I must get away. And you are very fond of my small Oliver, aren't you?"

"Oliver is a darling!" said Sara, brightly. "He will keep me busy and occupied, till you come back."

So her brother went.

And Sara and her old friend Miss Grafton were much together whilst she was arranging to let the house, and trying to find a suitable home for herself and the baby.

At last, she settled upon a certain farmhouse in Devon, a farmhouse which possessed four good airy rooms for letting. She went down herself to inspect them, and fell in love with the place.

The house stood on a slope of a hill facing south, and was in a lonely bit of wooded country. There was an apple orchard in front, and the four rooms composed a complete wing of the house, two downstairs, one of which was the kitchen, the other a very comfortable sitting-room, and two large rooms above. The farmer's wife said she could let a smaller room as well, if desired, and Sara took this. The baby's nurse was a staid elderly woman, and the other maid she meant to take with her was Lacy, who had implored not to be left behind.

"I am quite a good hand at cooking, and I would gladly be a one-handed general if only you'll keep me with you. I've endured a lot since you went away, ma'am. But I've always said to myself, 'Miss Sara will come back one day, and then she'll want to see me here.' And you've come now, and you'll let me stay with you for the rest of your days I'm hoping!"

"Oh, Lacy, you dear old thing!" said Sara, smiling through sudden tears. "Of course you shall come, and you and I will study cooking together. I have told nurse she must be willing to take her meals in the kitchen with you. She and baby will have a big room upstairs to themselves, and you must be content with a small room if you come."

"I'm content with anything," said Lacy, in a satisfied tone.

And Sara was delighted at the thought of having her, for she knew what a treasure she would prove.

It was the middle of July when they journeyed down to Devon, and Sara never forgot that first summer evening when they arrived at the farm. An old-fashioned roomy jingle met them at the station, driven by a very self-possessed small boy, who informed Sara he was Master Shiplake, and had left school for good the week before.

"So I'm helpin' feyther to the farm, an' the hay is out, an' one thing an' another will kep me busy till winter, an' then I means to have a try at a writin' clerk's place in Lunnon. I thought as ye were strange to Rattlecombe, I'd best meet ye instead of old Sam."

He talked most of the way; the old white pony stepped very leisurely up the hill. Sara with nurse and baby were inside the jingle. Lacy preferred to walk. A station luggage-cart brought up the rear.

They passed along a road arched over with leafy elms; they saw some red cows sauntering on in front going home to be milked. And then they turned in at a white gate, and the old yellow cob-walled farmhouse with its thatched roof lay before them. It was a quite drowsy time of day, an old sheep dog lay outside the porch door fast asleep. A row of beehives was along the garden path next the old cob garden wall, a border of bright hollyhocks, sunflowers, and Madonna lilies were behind them.

There were striped holland blinds outside the windows, and a little breeze was flapping them to and fro. In the orchard beyond the garden were some turkeys, and fowls strutting up and down; the humming of the bees hovering over the hollyhocks, the clucking of the hens and turkeys were the only sounds to disturb the stillness that reigned. Then the sheep dog suddenly raised his head and barked, and in an instant there was life and bustle around them.

Mrs. Shiplake, a good-looking, matronly woman, came to the door. Then she called a ruddy-checked servant, and the farmer himself came down to the gate to welcome them.

When Sara got into her sitting-room, she found an appetizing tea already prepared, and there was a delicious smell of hot baked bread in the house. She turned to Lacy with shining eyes.

"Oh, Lacy, isn't this better than London? Look at this nosegay of flowers on the table. Did you ever smell anything sweeter than these old-fashioned cabbage roses?"

And Lacy smiled, as well pleased as her mistress.

"I've just slipped into the kitchen, ma'am, and had a squint at the stove. Quite a nice little oven, and plenty of crockery and cupboards. I think we shall settle in beautiful!"

And later on, when Sara wandered out by herself in the dusky orchard and heard the owls begin to hoot, and the frogs croak in the stream beyond, she lifted up her face to the starlit heavens, and thanked God for having brought her to such a peaceful home.