Gisela bring in the tea. The architect and Mr Martin both swallowed a hasty cup and disappeared. Col. Bradshaw, after disposing of one of Miss Blackett’s uninteresting little cakes, asked Honor Bredon to come and inspect the damage done by the bullocks. Lady Merivale was left with Miss Hughes. Lord Jim, who had been sulking at having been shut out of the dining-room all the afternoon, had bolted in as soon as the door was opened and after taking a look from the window to make sure that nothing of note was happening in the drive, made straight for Miss Hughes, who disliked all animals but perhaps more especially cats. He wrapped himself ecstatically round her ankles. She exclaimed, stepped back hurriedly and jerked Lady Merivale into upsetting her cup of tea down her pale grey linen suit. Miss Hughes apologized effusively, Lady Merivale said it really didn’t matter in the least, and Lord Jim went to the door which someone had closed again and demanded to be let out immediately.
“A very useful meeting, don’t you think, Miss Hughes?” said Lady Merivale pleasantly.
“Oh, yes, very!” agreed Miss Hughes.
“I wonder if you could spare some of your valuable time to help with the fête,” went on Lady Merivale, “perhaps as a stallholder?”
“I think I could manage it,” said Miss Hughes delightedly.
“That would be most kind,” said Lady Merivale drawing on her gloves. “Well, I think I must be off now, MissBlackett. Thank you as usual for all your splendid work for us and for your hospitality this afternoon. I am sure you have decided rightly in giving this poor boy a trial and I do hope he will prove a real help to you.”
“I hope so too,” replied Miss Blackett, but the hope was faint. Life had not taught her to be very hopeful.
5
TOM
THE VICAR often liked to go about his business on his push bicycle. He said it was good for him and besides, it left the car free for his wife. She was the better driver and by far the better mechanic of the two. On the morning after the committee meeting, he set out to visit Tom Hobb and his grandmother. The weather at last had taken a turn for the better. The east wind which had blown relentlessly since early April had veered to the south-west and everything beautiful could stop looking brave as well and instead rejoice in shining with a quite remarkable loveliness. The vicar sped along the road leading to the hamlet and as he passed The Haven he waved courteously to the house, thinking that one of the old ladies might chance to be looking out of a window and be cheered at the gesture. Soon he turned into a lane bordered thickly with cow parsley, the hawthorn was out in the hedges and there were great clumps of campion on the banks and here and there a single foxglove reared up like a sentinel. A few white clouds were rapidly disintegrating in a sky of deep secure blue and the sun felt really hot for the first time that year.
The vicar could not contain himself. “Praise God from Whom all blessings flow,” he roared out and flew down the lane at a dangerous speed. He was a man given to happiness. He had his bees, a wife who was admirably fitted to be a vicar’s helpmate, two pretty small daughters and anuncomplicated mind. Of course he was sometimes troubled about erring or sorrowful parishioners, and he made himself miserable for a short time once a day by reading or listening to the news. But this he felt was enough. His wants were few and he had no ambitions to speak of, so on this fine May morning he sang the Doxology as he sped through the sunshine.
Tom Hobb’s grandmother lived at the bottom of a steep, rough little footpath leading off the lane that continued on its way to the hamlet. The vicar proceeded down this path on foot. The Hobbs’ cottage was tiny, humped and thatched, and sat square across the path with a lilac bush and an old apple tree, both in flower, on either side of the gate. On the crest of the thatch, which was in need of repair,
“A very useful meeting, don’t you think, Miss Hughes?” said Lady Merivale pleasantly.
“Oh, yes, very!” agreed Miss Hughes.
“I wonder if you could spare some of your valuable time to help with the fête,” went on Lady Merivale, “perhaps as a stallholder?”
“I think I could manage it,” said Miss Hughes delightedly.
“That would be most kind,” said Lady Merivale drawing on her gloves. “Well, I think I must be off now, MissBlackett. Thank you as usual for all your splendid work for us and for your hospitality this afternoon. I am sure you have decided rightly in giving this poor boy a trial and I do hope he will prove a real help to you.”
“I hope so too,” replied Miss Blackett, but the hope was faint. Life had not taught her to be very hopeful.
5
TOM
THE VICAR often liked to go about his business on his push bicycle. He said it was good for him and besides, it left the car free for his wife. She was the better driver and by far the better mechanic of the two. On the morning after the committee meeting, he set out to visit Tom Hobb and his grandmother. The weather at last had taken a turn for the better. The east wind which had blown relentlessly since early April had veered to the south-west and everything beautiful could stop looking brave as well and instead rejoice in shining with a quite remarkable loveliness. The vicar sped along the road leading to the hamlet and as he passed The Haven he waved courteously to the house, thinking that one of the old ladies might chance to be looking out of a window and be cheered at the gesture. Soon he turned into a lane bordered thickly with cow parsley, the hawthorn was out in the hedges and there were great clumps of campion on the banks and here and there a single foxglove reared up like a sentinel. A few white clouds were rapidly disintegrating in a sky of deep secure blue and the sun felt really hot for the first time that year.
The vicar could not contain himself. “Praise God from Whom all blessings flow,” he roared out and flew down the lane at a dangerous speed. He was a man given to happiness. He had his bees, a wife who was admirably fitted to be a vicar’s helpmate, two pretty small daughters and anuncomplicated mind. Of course he was sometimes troubled about erring or sorrowful parishioners, and he made himself miserable for a short time once a day by reading or listening to the news. But this he felt was enough. His wants were few and he had no ambitions to speak of, so on this fine May morning he sang the Doxology as he sped through the sunshine.
Tom Hobb’s grandmother lived at the bottom of a steep, rough little footpath leading off the lane that continued on its way to the hamlet. The vicar proceeded down this path on foot. The Hobbs’ cottage was tiny, humped and thatched, and sat square across the path with a lilac bush and an old apple tree, both in flower, on either side of the gate. On the crest of the thatch, which was in need of repair,
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