he
send me any message, Martha?"

"She did not."

He was sorry--inside.

Miss Joy thought that the Poor Boy was a very long time at his luncheon.
She was feeling rather blue and lonely. She wanted to talk to Martha,
and here it was half past two o'clock, and Martha still in the
dining-room with the Poor Boy.

She could hear the sound of their voices but not the words. She could
have heard the words by listening at the pantry door. But it never
entered her head to do so. She was working at a marble-topped table
trying to compose a cake according to a very complicated inspiration in
a cookbook that weighed seven pounds. Miss Joy had a vague idea that her
cake, not a large cake, was going to weigh more. It was going to be
very dark and rich, something like a wedding-cake.

Martha came at last from the dining-room, and examined the mixture which
Miss Joy had made.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Lady Godiva."

"Lady God help us! And what is the antidote?"

"Hard work in the open air. Why were you so long?"

"We got talking!"

"What about?"

"Mostly about the dangers of falling down and hurting yourself."

"Why," asked Miss Joy innocently, "is it so slippery out?"

Martha was overjoyed, and began to execute a sort of cautious tiptoe
dance.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm showing ye how an old woman walks on thin ice," said Martha. She
stopped dancing. "The Poor Boy is off to his playground, and it's time
you got ready for your walk."

"Did he say when he was coming back?"

"'Not before dark,' he said."

"Then I can go as far as the Three Beeches," said Miss Joy. She drew a
long breath.

"'Tis a pity ye have to walk alone."

"But it's doing me so much good. I'd hate to know what I weigh."

"Be careful you don't fall and hurt yourself," said Martha. "And be
careful your red cheeks don't set the woods on fire."

"Oh, Martha, are they--_too_ red?"

"Miss Joy"--this with solemn and heartfelt faith--"unless it is for a
nose now and then, the Lord Gawd never made anything _too_ red in his
life--"

The Poor Boy hurried to the beautiful new Georgian home that Lord Harrow
had built on Lilly Pond, and was already occupying. As befitted a great
man he had the whole lake to himself. His house, backed by noble beeches
and pines, faced south, and was a wonderful deep red, with white trim.
The house opened directly on a terrace, which in turn was built out over
the lake. It was formally planted to box and rose