‘Wait till to-morrow, and let us see what the day is like,’ he answered, with such languid indecision as showed me he was over-fatigued.  So I went my way.  The morrow was blue and sunny, and beautiful; the very perfection of an early summer’s day.  Mr Holdsworth was all Impatience to be off into the country; morning had brought back his freshness and strength, and consequent eagerness to be doing.  I was afraid we were going to my cousin’s farm rather too early, before they would expect us; but what could I do with such a restless vehement man as Holdsworth was that morning?  We came down upon the Hope Farm before the dew was off the grass on the shady side of the lane; the great house-dog was loose, basking in the sun, near the closed side door.  I was surprised at this door being shut, for all summer long it was open from morning to night; but it was only on latch.  I opened it, Rover watching me with half-suspicious, half-trustful eyes.  The room was empty.

‘I don’t know where they can be,’ said I.  ’But come in and sit down while I go and look for them.  You must be tired.’

’Not I. This sweet balmy air is like a thousand tonics.  Besides, this room is hot, and smells of those pungent wood-ashes.  What are we to do?’

‘Go round to the kitchen.  Betty will tell us where they are.’  So we went round into the farmyard, Rover accompanying us out of a grave sense of duty.  Betty was washing out her milk-pans in the cold bubbling spring-water that constantly trickled in and out of a stone trough.  In such weather as this most of her kitchen-work was done out of doors.

‘Eh, dear!’ said she, ’the minister and missus is away at Hornby!  They ne’er thought of your coming so betimes!  The missus had some errands to do, and she thought as she’d walk with the minister and be back by dinner-time.’

‘Did not they expect us to dinner?’ said I.

’Well, they did, and they did not, as I may say.  Missus said to me the cold lamb would do well enough if you did not come; and if you did I was to put on a chicken and some bacon to boil; and I’ll go do it now, for it is hard to boil bacon enough.’

‘And is Phillis gone, too?’ Mr Holdsworth was making friends with Rover.

’No!  She’s just somewhere about.  I reckon you’ll find her in the kitchen-garden, getting peas.

‘Let us go there,’ said Holsworth, suddenly leaving off his play with the dog.  So I led the way into the kitchen-garden.  It was in the first promise of a summer profuse in vegetables and fruits.  Perhaps it was not so much cared for as other parts of the property; but it was more attended to than most kitchen-gardens belonging to farm-houses.  There were borders of flowers along each side of the gravel walks; and there was an old sheltering wail on the north side covered with tolerably choice fruit-trees; there was a slope down to the fish-pond at the end, where there were great strawberry-beds; and raspberry-bushes