LITMIR.BIZ

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get to know some of them as friends," she said, "if we come here. Oh, look, Dad. Isn't it ripping?"

      The wide two-storied front of the house stood revealed to them at the end of another vista among the beeches. It stood on a level piece of ground with the church just across the road which ran past it. The churchyard was surrounded by a low stone wall, and the grass of the park came right up to it. The front of the house was regular, with a fine doorway in the middle, and either end slightly advanced. But on the nearer side a long line of ancient irregular buildings ran back and covered more ground than the front itself. They were faced by a lawn contained within a sunk fence. The main road through the park ran along one side of it, and along the other was a road leading to stables and back premises. This lawn was of considerable size, but had no garden decoration except an ancient sun-dial. It made a beautiful setting for the little old stone and red-brick and red-tiled buildings which seemed to have been strung out with no design, and yet made a perfect and entrancing whole. Tall trees, amongst which showed the sombre tones of deodars and yews, rising above and behind the roofs and chimneys, showed the gardens to be on the other side of the house.

      "Perhaps you would like to look at the church first," said the Vicar, "while the keys are being fetched. It is well worth seeing. We are proud of our church here. And if I may say so it will be a great convenience to you to have it so close."

      Caroline was all eagerness to see what there was to be seen of this entrancing house, even before the keys came. She didn't in the least want to spend time over the church at this stage. Nor did her father. But this Vicar seemed to have taken possession of them. They both began to wonder how, if ever, they were to shake him off, and intimated the same by mutual glances as he unlocked the door of the church, explaining that he did not keep it open while the house was empty, as it was so far from everywhere, but that he should be pleased to do so when the Abbey was once more occupied. He was quite at his ease now, and rather enjoying himself. The amenity which the two of them had shown in following him into the church inclined him to the belief that they would be easy to get on with and to direct in the paths that lay within his domain. He had dropped his preformed ideas of them. They were not 'new,' nor half-educated, and obviously they couldn't be Dissenters. But Londoners they had been announced to be, and he still took it for granted that they would want a good deal of shepherding. Well, that was what he was there for, and it would be quite a pleasant task, with people obviously so well endowed with this world's goods, and able to give something in return that would redound to the dignity of the church, and his as representing it. His heart warmed to them as he pointed out what there was of interest in the ancient well-preserved building, and indicated now and then the part they would be expected to play in the activities that lay within his province to direct.

      "Those will be your pews," he said, pointing to the chancel. "I shall be glad to see them filled again regularly. It will be a good example to the villagers. And I shall have you under my own eye, you see, from my reading-desk opposite."

      This was said to Caroline, in a tone that meant a pleasantry, and invited one in return. She again met his smile with a clear unconcerned look, and wondered when the keys of the house would come, and they would be relieved of this tiresome person.

      The car was heard outside at that moment, and Grafton said: "Well, thank you very much. We mustn't keep you any longer. Yes, it's a fine old church; I hope we shall know it better by and by."

      He never went to church in London, and seldom in the country, and had not thought of becoming a regular churchgoer if he should buy Abington. But the girls and Miss Waterhouse would go on Sunday mornings and he would occupy the chancel pew with them occasionally. He meant no more than that, but the Vicar put him down gratefully as probably 'a keen churchman,' and his heart warmed to him still further. An incumbent's path was made so much easier if his Squire backed him up, and it made such a tie between them. It would be a most pleasant state of things if there was real sympathy and community of interest between the Vicarage and the great house. He knew of Rectories and Vicarages in which the Squire of the parish was never seen, with the converse disadvantage that the rector or vicar was never seen in the Squire's house. Evidently nothing of the sort was to be feared here. He would do all he could to create a good understanding at the outset. As for leaving these nice people to make their way about the Abbey with only the lodge-keeper's wife, now arrived breathless and apologetic on the scene, it was not to be thought of. He would rather lose his lunch than forsake them at this stage.

      It was in fact nearly lunch time. Grafton, hitherto so amenable to suggestion, exercised decision. "We have brought a luncheon-basket with us," he said, standing before the door of the house, which the lodge-keeper was unlocking. "We shall picnic somewhere here before we look over the house. So I'll say good-bye, and thank you very much indeed for all the trouble you've taken."

      He held out his hand, but the Vicar was not ready to take it yet, though dismissal, for the present, he would take, under the circumstances. "Oh, but I can't say good-bye like this," he said. "I feel I haven't done half enough for you. There's such a lot you may want to know about things in general, your new neighbours and so on. Couldn't you both come to tea at the Vicarage? I'm sure my wife would be very pleased to make your acquaintance, and that of this young lady."

      "It's very kind of you," said Grafton. "But it will take us some hours to get back to London, and we don't want to get there much after dark. We shall have to start fairly early."

      But the Vicar would take no denial. Tea could be as early as they liked—three o'clock, if that would suit them. Really, he must insist upon their coming. So they had to promise, and at last he took himself off.

      The house was a joy to them both. They got rid of the lodge-keeper, who was anxious to go home and prepare her husband's dinner. She was apologetic at having been away from her lodge, but explained that she had only been down to the Estate office to draw her money.

      "Is there a regular Agent?" asked Grafton. "If so, I should like to see him before I go."

      She explained that Mr. Worthing was agent both for Abington and Wilborough, Sir Alexander Mansergh's place, which adjoined it. He lived at High Wood Farm about a mile away. He wasn't so often at Abington as at Wilborough, but could be summoned by telephone if he was wanted. Grafton asked her to get a message to him, and she left them alone.

      Then they started their investigations, while the chauffeur laid out lunch for them on a table in the hall.

      The hall was large and stone-floored, and took up the middle part of the later regular building. The sun streamed into it obliquely through tall small-paned windows at this hour of the day; otherwise it had the air of being rather sombre, with its cumbrous dark-coloured furniture. There was a great fire-place at one end of it, with a dark almost indecipherable canvas over it. It was not a hall to sit about in, except perhaps in the height of summer, for the front door opened straight into it, and the inner hall and staircase opened out of it without doors or curtains. A massive oak table took up a lot of room in the middle, and there were ancient oak chairs and presses and benches disposed stiffly against the walls.

      "Doesn't it smell good," said Caroline. "Rather like graves; but the nicest sort of graves. It's rather dull, though. I suppose this furniture is very valuable. It looks as if it ought to be."

      Grafton looked a little doubtful. "I suppose we'd better have it, if they don't want a terrific price," he said. "It's the right sort of thing, no doubt; but I'd rather have a little less of it. Let's go and see if there's another room big enough to get some fun out of. What about the long gallery? I wonder where that is."

      They found it on the side of the house opposite to that from which they had first approached it—a delightful oak-panelled oak-floored room with a long row of latticed windows looking out on to a delicious old-world garden, all clipped yews and shaven turf and ordered beds, with a backing of trees and an invitation to more delights beyond, in the lie of the grass and flagged paths, and the arched and arcaded yews. It was big enough to take the furniture of three or four good-sized rooms and make separate groupings of it, although what furniture there was, was disposed stiffly, as in the case of the hall.

      "Oh, what a heavenly room!" Caroline exclaimed. "I can see it at a glance, George darling. We'll keep nearly all this furniture,

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