toward the edge of Lulling Woods and emerged from their dusk into the clear sunshine of the open heath. Bees hummed among the gorse flowers and two larks vied with each other as they sang a duet high in the blue air.
Not fifty yards away, where four modest tracks met, "The Drovers' Arms" stood waiting for him behind its neat strip of mown grass. The door was shut, no smoke rose from the chimneys and not a soul was in sight. Only two gray and white geese rose menacingly from the shade of a low hedge, and advanced, with necks stretched out ominously, toward the unhappy young man.
But the windows were open, he noticed, and, very faintly, he could hear the sound of dishes being clattered in the kitchen at the rear of the house. A young clear voice began to sing, and Ben's heart turned over.
He took a great shuddering breath, raised his head, and set off to meet his fate.
8. A Chapter of Accidents
"N OT BAD ! Not bad at all," pronounced Ella Bembridge, dabbing parsley sauce from her chin with a hand-woven napkin.
Pink with praise, Dimity Dean carried the empty dish into the kitchen, returning with bananas in custard. The two friends hitched their wheel-backed chairs to the table again and continued their meal and their gossiping.
"I must say," said Ella, between succulent mouthfuls, "that Winnie Bailey wears well. What must she be? Nearly seventy?" There was a slightly grudging note in her voice which did not escape her sensitive friend's notice.
"Oh, hardly that, dear," she answered, in mollifying tones. "And of course she's had a very sheltered life, being married, you know."
Ella nodded, somewhat comforted.
"Time he gave up, if you ask me. That young fellow could do worse than settle here, and he seemed fairly competent, I thought. Inclined to take himself a bit seriously," added Ella, remembering her hasty dismissal from the morning surgery. "Likes to think he's the only one with any work to do—but there you are! That's the way with everyone today."
"It might be rather dull for a young man at Thrush Green—" began Dimity, but was cut short.
" Dull? " boomed her friend. "What's dull about Thrush Green? And anyway, if I'm not a Dutchman, he'll be marrying before long. He's been making sheep's eyes at Ruth Bassett ever since the cocktail party Joan and Edward gave this spring."
"Now, Ella darling," protested Dimity, with ineffectual severity, "that's really too naughty of you! I'm sure you're imagining things. Ruth has been much too upset to look at anyone else."
"Doesn't stop him looking at her, does it?" persisted Ella stoutly. She pushed aside her plate, took out the battered tobacco tin and rolled one of her monstrous cigarettes. Dimity considered this possible romance as her friend blew smoke upon the remains of the food. It might well be true. Darling Ella was wonderfully astute in matters like this. It would be the best possible thing for poor little Ruth, thought Dimity, her eyes filling as her sympathetic heart was pleasurably wrung. For once Ella noticed her friend's overbright eyes, and remembering Dr. Lovell's remark about heavy lifting, she spoke with bluff kindness.
"Here, young Dim, you get along to bed and have your rest. I'll wash up today. You look a bit done up."
Such unaccustomed consideration caused the tears to hover perilously at the brink of Dimity's blue eyes.
"Are you sure, darling? You're so good to me."
"Rubbish!" roared Ella cheerfully, crashing plates together like tinkling cymbals. The custard spoon fell with a glutinous thwack upon the rush mat at their feet and the water jug slopped generously upon the polished table, as Ella bent her back, grunting heavily, to retrieve the spoon.
"Soon have everything shipshape and Bristol fashion," she said heartily, emerging red-faced from her exertions. "Up you go for an hour."
"But what about that stuff you wanted to dye? Can you manage it alone?" quavered Dimity, hovering about the table.
"Easily!" replied Ella, screwing the linen
Not fifty yards away, where four modest tracks met, "The Drovers' Arms" stood waiting for him behind its neat strip of mown grass. The door was shut, no smoke rose from the chimneys and not a soul was in sight. Only two gray and white geese rose menacingly from the shade of a low hedge, and advanced, with necks stretched out ominously, toward the unhappy young man.
But the windows were open, he noticed, and, very faintly, he could hear the sound of dishes being clattered in the kitchen at the rear of the house. A young clear voice began to sing, and Ben's heart turned over.
He took a great shuddering breath, raised his head, and set off to meet his fate.
8. A Chapter of Accidents
"N OT BAD ! Not bad at all," pronounced Ella Bembridge, dabbing parsley sauce from her chin with a hand-woven napkin.
Pink with praise, Dimity Dean carried the empty dish into the kitchen, returning with bananas in custard. The two friends hitched their wheel-backed chairs to the table again and continued their meal and their gossiping.
"I must say," said Ella, between succulent mouthfuls, "that Winnie Bailey wears well. What must she be? Nearly seventy?" There was a slightly grudging note in her voice which did not escape her sensitive friend's notice.
"Oh, hardly that, dear," she answered, in mollifying tones. "And of course she's had a very sheltered life, being married, you know."
Ella nodded, somewhat comforted.
"Time he gave up, if you ask me. That young fellow could do worse than settle here, and he seemed fairly competent, I thought. Inclined to take himself a bit seriously," added Ella, remembering her hasty dismissal from the morning surgery. "Likes to think he's the only one with any work to do—but there you are! That's the way with everyone today."
"It might be rather dull for a young man at Thrush Green—" began Dimity, but was cut short.
" Dull? " boomed her friend. "What's dull about Thrush Green? And anyway, if I'm not a Dutchman, he'll be marrying before long. He's been making sheep's eyes at Ruth Bassett ever since the cocktail party Joan and Edward gave this spring."
"Now, Ella darling," protested Dimity, with ineffectual severity, "that's really too naughty of you! I'm sure you're imagining things. Ruth has been much too upset to look at anyone else."
"Doesn't stop him looking at her, does it?" persisted Ella stoutly. She pushed aside her plate, took out the battered tobacco tin and rolled one of her monstrous cigarettes. Dimity considered this possible romance as her friend blew smoke upon the remains of the food. It might well be true. Darling Ella was wonderfully astute in matters like this. It would be the best possible thing for poor little Ruth, thought Dimity, her eyes filling as her sympathetic heart was pleasurably wrung. For once Ella noticed her friend's overbright eyes, and remembering Dr. Lovell's remark about heavy lifting, she spoke with bluff kindness.
"Here, young Dim, you get along to bed and have your rest. I'll wash up today. You look a bit done up."
Such unaccustomed consideration caused the tears to hover perilously at the brink of Dimity's blue eyes.
"Are you sure, darling? You're so good to me."
"Rubbish!" roared Ella cheerfully, crashing plates together like tinkling cymbals. The custard spoon fell with a glutinous thwack upon the rush mat at their feet and the water jug slopped generously upon the polished table, as Ella bent her back, grunting heavily, to retrieve the spoon.
"Soon have everything shipshape and Bristol fashion," she said heartily, emerging red-faced from her exertions. "Up you go for an hour."
"But what about that stuff you wanted to dye? Can you manage it alone?" quavered Dimity, hovering about the table.
"Easily!" replied Ella, screwing the linen
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