Bush takes his time.'
'It hadn't escaped me,' replied the young woman, smiling.
Mrs Bailey returned with the tray.
'We've got two sorts of biscuits,' announced Jeremy excitedly.
'It's not very polite to comment on other people's food,' his mother told him gently.
'It sounded favourable comment to me,' said Winnie. 'We like that here.'
'We had rather a scratch breakfast,' said Mrs Prior. 'We stayed overnight for the first time.'
Winnie was glad that she had mentioned die burning subject first.
'Were you both comfortable?' she asked.
'Hardly. Our camp beds are the sort that Victorian explorers humped about!'
'Or probably their native bearers humped about,' suggested Doctor Bailey.
'Are they hard?' asked Winnie anxiously. 'We have two spare feather beds. Or better still, come and sleep here. You would be quite free to come and go when you pleased.'
'You're very kind,' said the girl. She flushed in a way that made her look suddenly young and defenceless.
'Or "The Fleece" is very comfortable, I know,' went on Winnie, intent upon her visitors' well-being.
'Too expensive,' said the girl.
'Hotel prices are ruinous these days,' agreed the doctor. 'Sugar, Mrs Prior?'
'No, thank you. And as we're to be neighbours, do you think you could call me Phil?'
'That would be very nice. Short for Phyllis, I take it? One of my favourite names,' said Doctor Bailey.
'I wish it were.'
'Philippa?' asked Winnie.
'Worse still. My proper name is Phyllida. My parents were hopelessly romantic.'
'Henry Austin Dobson,' said the doctor. 'Born 1840, died 1921.'
'How on earth did you know?'
'My mind is full of completely useless bits and pieces, such as that,' he replied. 'But the things I want to remember - where I left my pipe, or if I gave my partner a certain urgent message, for instance - completely escape me.'
'Well, you're dead right about Austin Dobson. My parents were great readers of poetry and had a weakness for the light fantastic.'
'A pleasant change from the heavy dismal we suffer from everywhere today,' commented Winnie. 'No one seems to laugh any more.'
'I do,' said Jeremy. 'I laugh a lot.'
'Keep it up,' advised the doctor. 'Keep it up.'
'My daddy makes me laugh.' He turned to his mother. 'Doesn't he make me laugh?' he persisted.
'He certainly does,' agreed his mother.
'When's he coming to see the new house?' asked the boy, through a mouthful of ginger biscuit.
'Sometime,' said his mother evasively. She produced a crumpled handkerchief from her jeans' pocket and gave a deft dab at her son's mouth.
'My husband has to be abroad a great deal,' she explained. 'He's in a textile firm. I'm afraid Jeremy hasn't seen much of him this last week or two.'
'More like a month,' began Jeremy.
'It always seems longer than it is,' his mother said swiftly. She looked at a massive wrist-watch.
'Time we went back to our paint pots, young man,' she told him, rising. 'Thank you so much for the coffee. We shall work twice as fast after that.'
Winnie accompanied her to the gate.
'Now, don't forget. If you want to stay overnight, do let us help. We look forward to having you as neighbours.'
'We look forward to coming,' replied the girl. 'A London flat is no place to bring up a growing boy. I was country-bred myself. I know what Jeremy's missing.'
'You'll be happy at Thrush Green,' Winnie assured her. The girl's mouth quivered.
'I'm sure we shall,' she said. 'We'll be here in good time for Jeremy to start school there in September.'
The two women looked across the green. The dew was drying rapidly, and from St Andrew's came the sound of country voices raised in praise. A pigeon clattered out from the avenue of chestnut trees, and landed nearby, strutting aimlessly this way and that, thrusting out its bright coral feet.
The girl sighed.
'It's all very comforting,' she said softly, as though speaking to herself. 'And now we must go home. Thank you again.'
They parted with smiles, and Winnie watched the pair run to Tullivers. It
'It hadn't escaped me,' replied the young woman, smiling.
Mrs Bailey returned with the tray.
'We've got two sorts of biscuits,' announced Jeremy excitedly.
'It's not very polite to comment on other people's food,' his mother told him gently.
'It sounded favourable comment to me,' said Winnie. 'We like that here.'
'We had rather a scratch breakfast,' said Mrs Prior. 'We stayed overnight for the first time.'
Winnie was glad that she had mentioned die burning subject first.
'Were you both comfortable?' she asked.
'Hardly. Our camp beds are the sort that Victorian explorers humped about!'
'Or probably their native bearers humped about,' suggested Doctor Bailey.
'Are they hard?' asked Winnie anxiously. 'We have two spare feather beds. Or better still, come and sleep here. You would be quite free to come and go when you pleased.'
'You're very kind,' said the girl. She flushed in a way that made her look suddenly young and defenceless.
'Or "The Fleece" is very comfortable, I know,' went on Winnie, intent upon her visitors' well-being.
'Too expensive,' said the girl.
'Hotel prices are ruinous these days,' agreed the doctor. 'Sugar, Mrs Prior?'
'No, thank you. And as we're to be neighbours, do you think you could call me Phil?'
'That would be very nice. Short for Phyllis, I take it? One of my favourite names,' said Doctor Bailey.
'I wish it were.'
'Philippa?' asked Winnie.
'Worse still. My proper name is Phyllida. My parents were hopelessly romantic.'
'Henry Austin Dobson,' said the doctor. 'Born 1840, died 1921.'
'How on earth did you know?'
'My mind is full of completely useless bits and pieces, such as that,' he replied. 'But the things I want to remember - where I left my pipe, or if I gave my partner a certain urgent message, for instance - completely escape me.'
'Well, you're dead right about Austin Dobson. My parents were great readers of poetry and had a weakness for the light fantastic.'
'A pleasant change from the heavy dismal we suffer from everywhere today,' commented Winnie. 'No one seems to laugh any more.'
'I do,' said Jeremy. 'I laugh a lot.'
'Keep it up,' advised the doctor. 'Keep it up.'
'My daddy makes me laugh.' He turned to his mother. 'Doesn't he make me laugh?' he persisted.
'He certainly does,' agreed his mother.
'When's he coming to see the new house?' asked the boy, through a mouthful of ginger biscuit.
'Sometime,' said his mother evasively. She produced a crumpled handkerchief from her jeans' pocket and gave a deft dab at her son's mouth.
'My husband has to be abroad a great deal,' she explained. 'He's in a textile firm. I'm afraid Jeremy hasn't seen much of him this last week or two.'
'More like a month,' began Jeremy.
'It always seems longer than it is,' his mother said swiftly. She looked at a massive wrist-watch.
'Time we went back to our paint pots, young man,' she told him, rising. 'Thank you so much for the coffee. We shall work twice as fast after that.'
Winnie accompanied her to the gate.
'Now, don't forget. If you want to stay overnight, do let us help. We look forward to having you as neighbours.'
'We look forward to coming,' replied the girl. 'A London flat is no place to bring up a growing boy. I was country-bred myself. I know what Jeremy's missing.'
'You'll be happy at Thrush Green,' Winnie assured her. The girl's mouth quivered.
'I'm sure we shall,' she said. 'We'll be here in good time for Jeremy to start school there in September.'
The two women looked across the green. The dew was drying rapidly, and from St Andrew's came the sound of country voices raised in praise. A pigeon clattered out from the avenue of chestnut trees, and landed nearby, strutting aimlessly this way and that, thrusting out its bright coral feet.
The girl sighed.
'It's all very comforting,' she said softly, as though speaking to herself. 'And now we must go home. Thank you again.'
They parted with smiles, and Winnie watched the pair run to Tullivers. It
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