n summer because the hedges are so high and
the leaves are so thick and the air can't get through!... Look! Look!"
She climbed on to the bars of a gate, and pointed, and he climbed on to
the bars beside her, and saw the English Channel, shining like a sheet
of silver in the setting sun.

"Can you see the trawlers coming home?" she said. "Out there! Do you
see? Those are our boats ... the Boveyhayne boats. That one with the
brown sails is Tom Yeo's boat. He's awf'lly nice and his wife's going to
have a baby. He told me so, and they hope it'll be a boy because Jim
Rattenbury--that's Tom Yeo's mate in the boat ... his wife had a
daughter last month, and they all think it would be awf'lly nice if
Tom's son were to grow up and marry Jim's daughter, and I think it
would, and of course it would, wouldn't it?"

"Would it?" said Henry.

"Of course it would. It would be so nice for everybody, and then the
boat could be left to Tom's son and it would belong to Jim's daughter,
too. I think that would be _very_ nice! I do hope they've caught a lot
of fish!" She jumped down from the gate and clapped her hands together.
"I know," she said. "We won't pluck primroses now. We'll go home and
simply swallow our tea like lightning, and then we'll tear down to the
beach and see them landing the fish. Come on, let's run!" She started
off and then suddenly checked herself and said, "Oh, I think I'd better
call you 'Quinny,' like Ninian. It'll save a lot of trouble, won't it?
Mother won't call you that. She'll probably call you 'Henry' or 'Harry.'
If we hurry up, we'll be just in time to see the boats beached!"

She ran off, laughing pleasantly, and he followed after her.

"That's the copse," she shouted, pointing to the trees on her left.
"We'll soon be there!"

They reached the top of the lane and crossed a narrow public road, and
then were in a broad avenue, almost arched by trees, at the end of which
was the Manor. It was a squarely-built sixteenth century house, made of
stone, taken from the Roman quarry a mile or two away on the road to
Franscombe. The first Graham to own it received it and the lands
adjacent to it from Henry the Second, and ever since that time a Graham
had been lord of the manor of Boveyhayne. Ninian was the last of his
line. If he were to die, there would be no more Grahams at Boveyhayne.
That was the fear that haunted Mrs. Graham....

Mary ran swiftly across the grass in the centre of the avenue and pushed
ope