g bracken from the moors, and
great gaps on the hillsides tell of his handiwork.

I know, of course, that Nature is kindly and beneficent, and that death
in this connection is a misnomer. I know that after the falling leaf
and the bare branch and twig there will come the glory of spring, the
glory of bursting bud and fragrant flower; but though that mitigates
the feeling of sadness it does not entirely dispel it. The flowers and
the foliage, the heather and the bracken have been my companions during
these sunny days of summer, and it is hard to lose them, though only
for a while.

And when I look on dear old Mother Hubbard, as she sits quietly by the
fire, with her needles clicking ever more slowly, and the calm of a
peaceful eventide deepening upon her face, my heart sinks within me,
and I dare not look forward to the wintry months that lie ahead. What
Windyridge will be to me when her sun sinks behind the hill I will not
try to realise. I attempt to be cheerful, but my words mock me and my
laugh rings hollow, and she, good soul, reads me through and through.
I know I do not deceive her, and my Inner Self warns me that one of
these days the motherkin will have it out with me and make me face
realities, and I stand in dread of that hour.

The squire, on the other hand, looks far better than when he came home.
He is still feeble, and he has his bad days, but the light in his eyes
is not the light of sunset. Dr. Trempest means to be convincing,
though he is merely vague when he assures the squire that he will
"outlive some of us yet." I am glad he is better, for I cannot be with
him as much as I should if Mother Hubbard did not claim my devotion.

I had tea with him and the Cynic on Sunday afternoon when some of her
chapel friends were keeping Mother Hubbard company.

The Cynic was in the garden when I reached the Hall, and he told me
that the squire was asleep in the library, so we drew two deck-chairs
into the sunshine and sat down for an hour on the lawn.

He lit a cigarette, clasped his hands behind his head, and began:

"Well, I suppose you will want to know what is being done in the City
of Destruction from which you fled so precipitately. I have not
noticed any tendency on your part to stop your ears to its sounds,
though you may not hanker after its fleshpots."

"Do not be horrid," I replied; "and if you are going to be cynical I
will go in and chat with the housekeeper. I am not particularly
anxi