The clock in the church tower struck six as she let herself out into the dewy freshness of the garden. She had to go across the little cloistered court and all round the house, and she stood for a moment in front of it to look over the gentle undulations of the park, where the deer were feeding on the dew-drenched grass, and the bracken grew tall on the slopes sentinelled by the great beeches. She had never been able to make up her mind whether or not she liked the church and the churchyard being so near the house. At first they had seemed to detract from its privacy, and from the front windows they certainly interfered with the view of the park hollows and glades, which were so beautiful in the varied lights in which they were seen. But as the weeks had gone by she had come to take in an added sense of the community of country life from their proximity. The villagers, all of whom she now knew by sight, and some of them intimately, came here every Sunday, and seemed to come more as friends, with the church almost a part of her own home. And some of them would come up sometimes to visit their quiet graves, to put flowers on them, or just to walk about among the friends whom they had known, now resting here. The names on many of the stones were alike, and families of simple stay-at-home cottagers could be traced back for generations. The churchyard was their book of honour; some personality lingered about the most far-away name that was commemorated in it. Caroline wished that her own mother could have been buried here. It would have been sweet to have tended her grave, and to have cherished the idea that she was not cut off from the warmth of their daily life. That was how the villagers must feel about those who were buried here. She felt it herself about an old man and a little child who had died since she had come to live at Abington. They were still a part of the great family. She went on through the formal garden and across the grass to the disused quarry which was the scene of her father's labours. It formed an ideal opportunity for rock-gardening, and was big enough to provide amusement for some time to come in gradual extension. He was half-way up the rocky stair he had made, very busy with his trowel and his watering-pot. As she came in sight of him he stood up to straighten his back, and then stepped back to consider the effect he had already made. This is one of the great pleasures of gardening, and working gardeners should not be considered slack if they occasionally indulge in it. He turned and saw her as she crossed the grass towards him. She was not disappointed in the lightening of his face or the pleasure that her coming gave him. "Why, my darling!" he said. "I thought you'd be slumbering peacefully for another couple of hours. This _is_ jolly!" He gave her a warm kiss of greeting. She rubbed her soft cheek. "It's the first time I've ever known you to dress without shaving first," she said.