“There, children, go and _do_ the flowers, and drink tea. I am going to read to your uncle to keep him fresh for Lance.” “How bright she looks,” said Gerald, as Anna began collecting vases from the tables in a drawing-room not professionally artistic, but entirely domestic, and full of grace and charm of taste, looking over a suburban garden fresh with budding spring to a church spire. “The thought of Uncle Lance has cheered them both very much.” “So the Vicar is really recovering?” “Since Cousin Marilda flew at the curates, and told them that if they came near him with their worries, they should never see a farthing of hers! And they are all well at home? Is anything going on?” “Chiefly defence of the copses from primrose marauders. You know the great agitation. They want to set up a china clay factory on Penbeacon, and turn the Ewe, not to say the Leston, into milk and water.” “The wretches! But they can’t. It is yours.” “Not the western quarry; but they cannot get the stream without a piece of the land which belongs to Hodnet’s farm, for which they make astounding bids; but, any way, nothing can be done till I am of age, when the lease to Hodnet is out, except by Act of Parliament, which is hardly worth while, considering--” “That you are near twenty. But surely you won’t consent?” “Well, I don’t want to break all your hearts, Cherie’s especially, but why should all that space be nothing but a playground for us Underwoods, instead of making work for the million?” “And a horrid, nasty million it would be,” retorted Anna. “You born Yankee! Don’t worry Aunt Cherry about profaning the Ewe, just to spoil good calico with nasty yellow dust.” “I don’t want to worry her, but there never were such groovy people as you are! I shall think it over, and make up my mind by the time I have the power.” “I wish you had to wait till five-and-twenty, so as to get more time and sense.” Gerald laughed, and sauntered away. He was not Yankee, except that he had been born at Boston. His father was English, his mother a Hungarian singer, who had divorced and deserted his father, the ne’er-do-weel second son of an old family. When Gerald was five years old his father was killed, and he himself severely injured, in a raid of the Indians far west, and he was brought home by an old friend of the family. His eldest uncle’s death made him heir to the estate, but his life was a very frail one till his thirteenth year, when he seemed to have outgrown the shock to spine and nerves. Much had befallen the house of Underwood since the days when we took leave of them, still sorrowing under the loss of the main pillar of their house, but sending forth the new founders with good hope.