on bricks and mortar. The girls were wild
with delight, and flitted about gathering specimens of the different
flowers; while the two young men were content to watch them with an air
of masculine superiority.

"What is the use of burdening yourselves with all those things at the
very beginning of our walk?"

"They aren't a burden, they are a joy. Hold them for me, please, while
I get some more," replied Mollie, laying a stack of long-stemmed
beauties in Jack's arms, regardless of his look of dismay. "Don't crush
them; I want them kept quite fresh."

"What are you going to do with them, if I might ask? There are plenty
in the house. It's a pity to cut them just to waste."

"I wouldn't waste them for the world, the beautiful darlings! I'm going
to send them home to mother. We will pack them in a box, and take them
down to the post-office this afternoon. It will provide honest work for
the afternoon," retorted Mollie.

She was too happy, too supremely happy, to be stiff and formal. As she
darted from one flower-bed to another she looked like an incarnation of
the bright spring morning. There was no room in her mind for doubts and
fears. The future simply did not exist; the present was all-sufficient.

From the gardens the quartette strolled onwards past the lake, and
across the wide park to the further gates; then, returning, paid a visit
to the stables. The groom greeted them with a smile, which showed that
he had anticipated their coming; and, like the other servants, hailed
with delight a return to livelier days.

"The horses will get some work now, I hope, ma'am," he said, touching
his forehead as he addressed himself to Ruth, as the head of the party.
("The Farrell eyebrows again!" said Mollie to herself.)

"They have had it far too easy for a long time back. The master's fond
of horses, and we need a good many for driving up these steep hills, as
everything has to be brought up from the station; but it's regular
gentle exercise as suits 'em best. I've a nice little mare as would
carry you, if you'd care to try her. She's in this box. Fanny, we call
her. Whoa! Fanny, old girl, come and show yourself! Nice gentle
creature, you see, miss: no temper in her."

"But I don't ride," began Ruth, smiling. "I should like to very much;
and I don't think I should be nervous, but--"

"Oh, I'd love to ride! Is there a horse for me, too? And would you
teach us--would you? Could we come down every da