ready for bursting clothed every branch. And the grass along the hedges
was starred with celandines and daisies, while yellow catkins sprinkled
the bushes above them. A blackbird was singing loudly as Rhoda passed the
big chestnut trees by the gate, and a squirrel darted down from a fir and
scurried across the drive to hide himself in the little wood. Rhoda waited
a moment, hoping for another glimpse of the bright-eyed little fellow. She
was a child still in her delight in small animals, and this visit to
Woodcote was a great treat to her. She loved the country as only
country-bred people forced to live in a big town can love it. And this
sweet English countryside, with its breezy uplands and smiling pastures,
seemed more beautiful to her than even her dear Australia.

She drew a breath of delighted admiration when she came out on the lawn
and saw the old house with its beds of tulips before it flaming in the
sun. It was such a house as she had read of but had never seen, a haunt of
ancient peace, time-worn, yet smiling still, its walls mellowed by the
sunshine of many a hundred summers. She would have stood a moment to
notice the delightful lines the gables made against the sky, but a figure
at one of the deep, narrow-paned windows to the right of the porch caught
her attention, and remembering that she had come on sober business, she
walked briskly up to the heavy iron-studded door within the porch and
pulled the twisted bell rope.

By Miss Merivale's orders she was shown into the library, a delightful
room looking out on the garden at the back of the house. She had ample
time to notice what a dear old garden it was, for Miss Merivale kept her
waiting quite a quarter of an hour.

More than once Miss Merivale went across the narrow hall and put her hand
on the door, and then went back to the drawing-room, finding her courage