It need hardly be said with what delight Dick's news is received by every one, and as she lays her head upon her pillow that night, Honor thinks of her brother's words, and feels that a "load" is indeed lifted off her heavily burdened shoulders.
It is a lovely, warm day at the beginning of June, and Doris, having made the beds in conjunction with Molly, and afterwards drifted round the rooms with a duster in a desultory sort of fashion which, had she seen her, would have driven energetic Honor well-nigh crazy, presents herself in the kitchen where her sister is engaged in certain culinary matters.
"That soup smells good!" she remarks, as Honor, pepper-caster in hand, gives a final stir round the saucepan over which she is bending, and turns to confront her sister.
"There is not much in it besides the pea-flour, and a flavouring of carrots and onions--oh, and the bacon bone, which has been stewing ever since the early morning. But it's cheap," Honor winds up with a sigh; "and really Dick's and Bobby's appetites seem to grow larger every day, to say nothing of Becky's!"
"Well, I came to tell you that I can not stay indoors any longer on such a lovely morning as this. I know it's no use asking you to come too, because you would be certain to find some very good reason against it. So, as Molly is going to the vicarage to give Dolly Bolton her lesson, I shall just take my book and go and sit in Lord What's-his-name's woods for a time."
"He is not a lord, I tell you," says Honor rather testily, "any more than you or I. He is only a baronet.--Sir Something Somebody, I forget what now. It was only the other day that Mr. Edward Talboys was pointing out the house (The Court, I think he called it) to me, and he said that the owner was nearly always abroad, and that it had been shut up for years in consequence."
"All the better for us," remarks Doris. "Well, I'm off. Good-bye, Honor; if I find any flowers worth having, I'll bring you some."
Walking briskly along, Vic bounding forward in advance, elated at the idea of a prolonged hunt, Doris and she soon come to the woods, and climbing over a little stile, strike off down a path to the right which they both seem to be familiar with. Following this for some distance, Doris turns suddenly to the left, and in another instant is in the most lovely little glade imaginable. The girls have named it their "parlour," for it is carpeted with a rich emerald turf, which is dotted over at intervals with numberless wild flowers of the woods. Several trees have been felled at this spot, and the moss-covered stumps afford capital resting-places, especially one stump, which has two straggling sort of boughs behind it, thus forming quite an inviting arm-chair.