A happy woman
grow 'em, why, let 'em do it, says I!'
"So I'm doing it, you see!"
"I could send you round a boy who lives at my gate," said the Colonel.
"His mother is looking out for a job for him. Say the word and I will
do it."
"But I can't do that. I am neither the master nor mistress here."
"You can do anything you like in this house, I'm pretty sure!"
Sara shook her head, and Graham joining them at this moment was
appealed to by his friend.
"Of course if you can send round a lad, I shall be delighted for Miss
Darlington to set him to work. The fact is, I haven't cared for the
garden, and I've let it go. Boy labour is scarce about here."
"Come over and see him yourself, Miss Darlington," said Colonel
Fleming. "I'll give you tea."
"Thank you, but I must be here at tea-time. Mrs. Laird expects me to
be. But I could walk over very early in the afternoon if necessary."
"It isn't necessary at all," Graham said, shortly. "Send him along,
Jack, we'll try him."
So Ted Cranley appeared the next day, and worked steadily in the flower
garden under Sara's superintendence, until order and beauty reigned
instead of chaos. Sara sent for flower seeds, she talked to Mrs. Laird
about the flower garden she meant to have.
"And then you will be able to come down and help me enjoy the flowers,"
she said to her.
"No, I cannot leave my room."
"You don't know what you'll be able to do when the warmer weather
comes. I want to row you out in a boat upon the lake. Don't look so
startled! It's exquisite down there. You have no idea of all the
beautiful places round about you."
"I came to this wild spot because I needed a refuge," said Mrs. Laird
very solemnly. "I wished to bury myself from everybody and everything."
"But you choose a most exquisite refuge," persisted Sara; "and you can
be as much alone out of doors as you can indoors. You wait and see."
She worked away cheerfully in her garden.
Graham found her in it when he came home, and she was generally singing
softly to herself. He stood and watched her one day.
She was pruning a rosebush, and she sang as she worked—
"All day I wear a flowery crown,
Flowers, only flowers:
At night by flowers I lay me down,
Oh, the sunny hours!
Breath of angels, hues of heaven,
Surely to the flowers are given,
Bring more flowers."
"I do believe you are happy here!" he said.
She turned, pruning scissors in hand, for she did not know he was near.
"Of course I am," she said. "Why should I not be? And the feeling of
spring in the air makes all our pulses beat quicker, and our hearts
throb with hope."
"I believe it does," he returned; and there was a light in his eye and
a spring in his tread as he went on into the house.
CHAPTER V
A DAY OUT
"DOES a companion ever have a 'day out'?"
This astonishing question was put to Graham the next morning by Sara
herself.
His startled look made her laugh.
"I was wondering," she went on. "Izzie had her day out last week. It
made me want to go too."
"Are you in such bondage, then?" Graham asked. "You know you have only
to express a wish to have it granted."
"That's nicely put. But I never want to get away from my position.
And if I am not entitled to a day, I won't ask for it. Did any of my
predecessors have a day out?"
Graham's eyes twinkled.
"I must think," he said; "the one who stayed longest did. She insisted
upon coming my rounds with me one day in the dog-cart. We had lunch
with Jack Fleming. Would you like to do the same?"
"No, thank you," said Sara, laughing. "When I go, you won't set eyes on
me from breakfast to nightfall, I want to have my fill of the hills one
day, and to feel that I have leisure to enjoy them, instead of hurrying
back."
"What did you do in London when you could never gratify such longing?"
"I used sometimes to run away from my brother," Sara confessed. "I have
picknicked by myself in Richmond Park, and in Kew Gardens, and had a
delicious time."
"You must choose a day when the mists are not about. I have told you
that our hills hold dangers."
"I shall be very cautious, I promise you. My only doubt is whether your
mother can spare me."
"I will ask her to do so. I am sure she will."
So it came to pass that one lovely spring morning, Sara set out with
a book, a stout stick in her hand, and a packet of sandwiches in her
pocket. A feeling of exhilaration was in her soul. There was a crisp
freshness in the air, and a warmth in the sun, which sent her on her
way rejoicing.
When she got out on the hills with the soft springy turf underfoot,
and saw the gorse in full bloom, and watched the upward flight of many
larks carolling their way towards heaven, she forgot all the anxious
thoughts about her poor depressed invalid, and lifted her face in joy
at being alive. One companion she had with her, and that was Graham's
collie, "Snooks." Snooks had attached himself with great pertinacity to
Sara. He laid in wait for her when she came out of the house, and would
trot round the garden after her watching all her performances with the
greatest interest. Now he, like herself, was ecstatic with the sense
of freedom. He bounded here and there, pursued imaginary rabbits, and
barked at the larks.
Sara let him roam unhindered by whistle or calls; she tramped steadily
upward, and at length turned to look about her. The beauty of the scene
below made her determine to have a rest, so that she would have time to
enjoy it. She lay down on the soft turf and gazed dreamily before her.
In the distance was the lake, looking a brilliant blue this morning,
with deep purple shadows on the farther side where the young larches
lined the banks in their fresh shimmering dress of green. As she
looked, a tiny boat with a white sail shot out from the shore, and took
its way across the calm still water, leaving a streak of silver light
behind it. From this height she could see behind the trees the towers
of Sir Malcolm Ferris's house, and green valleys running up from the
side of the lake through a break in the hills. She caught sight of the
high white road through the pines which she had driven along that first
night of her arrival. And then her thoughts centred on Mrs. Laird.
"She could be so happy," she mused; "she has an affectionate son, and a
comfortable home, and she has no pains and aches to speak of. Whatever
she has done, and I expect it is extreme morbidness that makes her
think she has done anything, she could have the peace of forgiveness
resting upon her soul, for I am sure her repentance and remorse has
been lasting enough. How I wish she would confide in me! If I only knew
more, I could help her more. I should love to have her up here with me
now. What a world of good it would do her!"
Sara turned over on her side, the smell of the hot gorse with its
peculiar fragrance came to her, bees buzzed busily round. In the
distance, she heard the sheep bleating to each other. Then her thoughts
began to get hazy. In the warmth of the sun, she slept.
She awoke with a start. Somebody was prodding her with the end of an
umbrella. She rubbed her eyes, then sat up. An elderly lady in blue
goggles and a big brown straw hat tied down with a veil was standing
by her. The stranger was in short tweed skirt, and had a tin box slung
over her shoulder. She was now leaning on a stout green umbrella, and
she gave a little grunt when Sara rose to her feet.
"What are you thinking of to go to sleep upon the grass at this time of
year? Are you trying to court rheumatism and ague, and sciatica, and
all the rest of it?"
"No," said Sara, smiling. "I own I have been unwise, but I was so
comfortable."
"I thought you'd had a fit at least, seeing you in that ridiculous
position on the ground."
Sara looked round for Snooks. He was nowhere to be seen.
"Have you seen a brown collie?" she asked.
"Of course I have. He was trying to court disaster too, chasing birds
amongst the rocks. I tried to call him off, but he refused to come. He
may get a tumble if he doesn't take care."
"I must go and find him."
"Do you know our hills? You look a stranger. I think I had better come
with you. I am out botanizing."
"Thank you," said Sara, meekly. "I am a stranger. I am staying with
Mrs. Laird."
The old lady took off her goggles and gazed at Sara with a pair of
bright brown eyes.
"A relative, I presume?"
"No, a companion," said Sara with a smile; "and I am having a day out.
Isn't it delicious up here?"
"I'm Kate Ferris. I come occasionally to stay with my nephew, he is
down here now, and always invites me to the Towers in the spring. I
sit and read and write and knit all the winter in my rooms in town.
When the first breath of spring comes, I'm in the country to greet it.
I've been hunting for a certain little plant which grows and blossoms
on these hills this month. I know Mr. Laird, and he knows me, but he
is always very rude to me—won't allow me to call upon his mother. I
suppose she's a poor hypochondriac."
She was striding up the hill as she spoke, and Sara wondered at her
strength and activity. She tried to explain that Mrs. Laird received no
visitors.
"A great pity!" was the sharp reply. "People are not meant to shut
themselves away from their fellow creatures, least of all women,
who are a mass of fads and eccentricities and nerves, when they let
themselves run to seed. We are like plants, which grow in clusters, and
in their natural state like plenty of company."
Sara turned this over in her mind.
"There are single specimens," she said diffidently.
"Men cultured," snapped the old lady; "and if you let these precious
single specimens alone to the state of nature in which God placed
them—what happens?"
Sara did not answer, for she heard a yelp of pain proceeding from some
rocks a short distance from them, and she ran forward in haste, for she
knew that Snooks was in difficulties.
She was startled to find herself on a sharp spur of the hill which fell
precipitately down hundreds of feet. About fifteen feet down, Snooks
was struggling frantically to extricate himself from a narrow crevice,
into which he had either tumbled or crept.
Miss Ferris had been quick to follow Sara.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. "It's perilous footing where he
is."
Sara did not reply. In an instant, she was scrambling down to where the
collie was. She found that one of his hind legs was seriously crushed.
Miss Ferris watched from above anxiously. Very deftly and calmly, with
soothing words and touch, did Sara release the poor dog. She was able
to lift up a heavy piece of rock which had fallen on him, and so had
imprisoned him. But having released him, she stood looking up in doubt.
Miss Ferris seemed unable to suggest anything.
"Can't he climb himself? You can never lift him?"
Sara slipped out of her thick tweed coat. She wrapped it round the
dog's body, then took off her long thick scarf, and in five minutes had
him slung across her back, and was climbing up to safety.
Miss Ferris heaved a long sigh when she was able to grip Sara by the
hand, and see her bring her burden up to the green turf above.
"Splendidly done, young woman! And what an intelligent tractable dog!
No trouble at all! If he had struggled and borne you down, you and he
might have fallen back, and been dashed to pieces below! I'm quite
breathless with the excitement of the moment."
"Poor Snooks!" said Sara, laying the collie tenderly down and examining
his hurt. "I'm afraid his leg is broken, or very badly sprained. He
won't let me touch it. I wonder what I had better do? Carry him home, I
suppose."
"He will be too heavy. No, there's a doctor not far from here—a quack—a
herb doctor, but he's very good with animals. My brother had a sheep up