“Then,” said her aunt, “I’ll come with you,” and, after she had bundled away her ironing and put her infant in the perambulator, they hurried off together without seeing or speaking to anybody. Their way lay for the greater part through fields and across a wild heath, and they still saw no one who knew them or could possibly guess their errand.

In the meantime, as they journeyed, in the village of their destination the nurse was washing and making comfortable the invalid. They were alone in the house, together in the one room. Poor Lily was a little peevish, for she was in a weak state—as it proved, actually dying—and objected to being disturbed by the nurse’s ministrations.

“Come, come! You must let me make you look nice. Your sister will be here directly,” said the nurse cheerfully.

“I know,” said Lily. “I can see her. Aunt Emma is with her. They’re just coming over Hardwick Heath and they’re picking some blackberries.”

“Oh, no, my dear,” said the nurse. “You mustn’t expect your aunt so early in the day as this. She doesn’t even know you’re so ill and she’s got her young baby to see to. And they wouldn’t be picking blackberries. They’d be hurrying on to see you.”

Shortly afterwards they arrived. And blackberries had been picked, for the aunt, not having had time to take flowers from her own garden, had gathered a little bouquet of harebells and other heath flowers, which she had backed with early-turned yellow and crimson bramble leaves and a few sprays loaded with fruit.

37

“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!”

After she had become accustomed to her new surroundings at Candleford Green, Laura was happier, or at least gayer, than she had been since early childhood. Because of her age, or the overflowing abundance of Miss Lane’s table, or because something in the air or the life suited her, her thin figure filled out, a brighter colour appeared in her cheeks, and such an inrush of energy and high spirits took hold of her that she would dance, rather than walk, about the house and garden, and felt she could never tire.