aughing. "The garden is his
hobby. He is at work sometimes at six o'clock in the morning. It is
rather a good garden, as you see; but when David first came to the
White Cottage it was a perfect wilderness. A lone widder woman cannot
be expected to attend to house and garden too," he continued in a
lackadaisical voice. "Hallo, Davy, what cheer, my lad? Are the fates
propitious?"

"Not exactly," in a depressed tone. "I am afraid it is washing-day, and
that Mrs. Pratt will keep us waiting. I filled the kettle for her
myself, but it has got to boil; but if you don't mind waiting--" in a
still more embarrassed manner.

"What's the matter, good friends?" observed a cheery voice. "Can I be
of any use and assistance? I am not afraid of a dozen Mrs. Pratts. May
I join your tea-party, Mr. Carlyon? I was just going to ask Mrs. Finch
for a cup, but as I passed I saw Cedric at the window," and before any
could answer Elizabeth had advanced into the room with a smile that
seemed to evoke responsive smiles on every face.

"Thank goodness! Bet," exclaimed her brother devoutly; "we shall get
along now."

"Oh yes, we shall get along," and Elizabeth took off her hat and
hastily smoothed her hair. "Now for the Pratt woman and tea. Au revoir,
gentlemen." And then she vanished, and after a moment's hesitation Mr.
Carlyon followed her.

CHAPTER XII

MR. CARLYON'S TEA-PARTY

If there be a smile on our lips, those around us will
soon smile; and our happiness will become the truer and
deeper as we see that these others are happy.
--MAETERLINCK.

Smiles are as catching as tears.
--MAETERLINCK.

What a sudden change in the atmosphere! If a fresh moorland breeze had
swept through the little sitting-room at the White Cottage it could not
have effected a more beneficial change.

A few words from a brisk, cheerful young woman had acted like magic;
Mr. Carlyon lost his harassed look, Malcolm's bored expression had
vanished, while Cedric's fervent "Thank goodness! Bet, we shall get
along now," was inwardly echoed by his friends.

Malcolm's good-humour returned, and he gave his undivided attention to
the flower-borders, and enlarged in his poetical way on the beauties of
the Iceland and Shirley poppies.

"They are like fine court ladies," he observed to Cedric, "they are so
smart and dainty and graceful. What a charming combination of colour!
Your friend