f ours has asked us to stay in his barge--I mean he's lent
us the barge for us to stay in. It's called the Naiad and it's on
the Thames at Ladingford and when we've finished with it we're
going to have it towed down to Oxford and come back from there by
train. Mother asked if you would like to come and stay with us for
a fortnight. Think of it, a fortnight! Margaret is coming and
Monica is going to stay with Father, who can't leave the garden.
Oh, Guy, I'm wild with happiness! We're to start on the first of
July about. Do send me a little note by Birdwood. Of course I know
there's no need. But I would love to have a little note especially
as we sha'n't see each other till after lunch.

Your own adoring
PAULINE.

Guy wrote the little note to Pauline, and to his father he wrote a long
letter explaining that it was impossible to give up what he was doing to
be a schoolmaster.

It was peerless weather when they set out in Godbold's wagonette on the
nine miles to Ladingford. Guy was thrilled to be traveling like this
with Mrs. Grey, Margaret, and Pauline. The girls were in flowered muslin
dresses, seeming more airy than he had ever thought them; and the
luggage piled up beside Godbold had the same exquisite lightness, so
that it appeared less like luggage than a store of birds' feathers. The
thought of nearly having missed this summery pilgrimage made Guy catch
his breath.

They arrived at Ladington towards tea-time and found the barge lying by
an old stone bridge about a mile away from the village. Apart from the
spire of Ladingford church nothing conspicuously broke the horizon of
that flat, green country stretching for miles to a shadowy range of
hills. Whichever way they looked, these meads extended, with here and
there willows and elms; close at hand was the quiet by-road that crossed
the bridge and meandered over the low lands, as still and traffickless
as the young Thames itself.

The _Naiad_ was painted peacock-blue; owing to the turreted poops the
owner had superimposed and the balustrade with rail of gilt gadroons, it
almost had the look of a dismasted Elizabethan ship.

"Anything more you'll want?" Godbold inquired.

"Nothing more, thank you, Mr. Godbold," said Mrs. Grey. "Charming ...
charming ... such a pleasant drive. Good afternoon, Mr. Godbold."

The carrier turned his horse; and when the sound of the wagonette had
died away there was silence exc