ed to be almost centuries old; and on the other
side was what was called the kitchen garden, though, I think, it might
have been called the parlour garden just as rightly, from the rich
banquets it used to supply of all kinds of luscious fruits--peaches,
nectarines, plums, strawberries, apples, pears, currants; and as to
gooseberries, the trees used to be so loaded with great rough golden and
crimson fellows, that they would lay their branches down on the ground
to rest them, because the weight was greater than they could bear. But
the greatest beauty of the house at Hollowdell, or, as it was called in
the neighbourhood, "The Grange," was the ivy, which did not creep there,
but ran, and ran all over the place--sides, roof, and all--even twining,
and twisting, and growing right up amongst the two great old-fashioned
chimney-stacks, round the pots, and some shoots even drooping in them,
and getting black and dry amongst the smoke that came curling and
wreathing out. For Squire Inglis would not have the ivy cut anywhere
excepting in the front, where he used to superintend while Sam cleared
it away now and then, so as to give the roses and creeping plants a
chance to show their beauties in the bright summer-time. And there the
Grange stood, with flowers blooming around it in every direction, as
sweet and pretty a place as could welcome any one just come from the
great desert of bricks and mortar called London, in which people who are
not compelled are so foolish as to go and spend their time in the
sunniest and brightest days of the year.

And, as Philip said, there stood Papa beneath the porch; and directly
after there stood Mamma too, to welcome their sister's child, whom they
had not seen since he was almost a baby.

"Now, boys," said the Squire, after all the handshaking had been
finished, "I've nothing to do with this. Fred is your visitor for a
month, so I leave you to make him happy and comfortable, and mind you
see that he enjoys himself."

Philip and Harry promised readily enough that they would. "But, Papa,"
said Harry, "Dr Edwards said, when we broke up, that we were to do a
little work every day during the holidays, and--and--"

"And what?" said his father. "Eh, now," said he, good-humouredly; "I
think I can make a good guess at what you would like. You'd like me to
write to the Doctor to let you off, wouldn't you?"

"Oh! yes, yes, yes, Papa," shouted the boys, clapping their hands.
"Hurrah, that's c