Rose Cottage was a tiny place, and there were not wanting proofs that the Major’s income was commensurate with the scale of his establishment.  A wise economy had to be a guiding rule in Major Strickland’s life, otherwise Mr. George’s college expenses would never have been met, and that young gentleman would not have had a proper start in life.  Deborah was the only servant that the little household could afford; but then the Major himself was gardener, butler, valet and page in one.  Thus—­he cleaned the knives in a machine of his own invention; he brushed his own clothes; he lacquered his own boots, and at a pinch could mend them.  He dug and planted his own garden, and grew enough potatoes and greenstuff to serve his little family the year round.  In a little paddock behind his garden the Major kept a cow; in the garden itself he had half-a-dozen hives; while not far away was a fowl-house that supplied him with more eggs than he could dispose of, except by sale.  The Major’s maxim was, that the humblest offices of labour could be dignified by a gentleman, and by his own example he proved the rule.  What few leisure hours he allowed himself were chiefly spent with rod and line on the banks of the Adair.

George Strickland was an orphan, and had been adopted and brought up by his uncle since he was six years old.  So far, the uncle had been able to supply the means for having him educated in accordance with his wishes.  For the last three years George had been at one of the public schools, and now he was at home for a few weeks’ holiday previously to going to Cambridge.

It will of course be understood that but a very small portion of what is here set down respecting Rose Cottage and its inmates was patent to me at that first visit; much of it, indeed, did not come within my cognizance till several years afterwards.

When breakfast was over, the Major lighted an immense meerschaum, and then invited me to accompany him over his little demesne.  To a girl whose life had been spent within the four bare walls of a school-room, everything was fresh and everything was delightful.  First to the fowl-house, then to the hives, and after that to see the brindled calf in the paddock, whose gambols and general mode of conducting himself were so utterly absurd that I laughed more in ten minutes after seeing him than I had done in ten years previously.

When we got back to the cottage, George was ready to take me on the river.  The Major went down with us and saw us safely on board the Water Lily, bade us good-bye for an hour, and then went about his morning’s business.  I was rather frightened at first, the Water Lily was such a tiny craft, so long and narrow that it seemed to me as if the least movement on one side must upset it.  But George showed me exactly where to sit, and gave me the tiller-ropes, with instructions how to manage them, and was himself so full of quiet confidence that my fears quickly died a natural death, and a sweet sense of enjoyment took their place.