It was a pretty old Rectory to which Annie Brooke was going in order to
spend the first week of her holidays. It was situated on the borders of
Wales, and the scenery was superb. Mountains surrounded it, and seemed,
after a fashion, to shut it in. But these glorious mountains, with
their ever-changing, ever-shifting effects of light and shade, their
dark moments, their moments of splendour, were all lost upon such a
nature as that of Annie Brooke.
She hated the Rectory. Her feelings towards Uncle Maurice were only
those of toleration.
She loathed the time she spent there, and now the one thought in her
breast was the feeling that her emancipation was near, and that very
soon she would be on her way to gay Paris to join Mabel Lushington.
Yes, Annie had achieved much, if those actions of hers could be spoken
of in such a light; she had won that which she desired. Priscilla
remained at school. Mabel had left Lyttelton School, and she (Annie)
was to join her friend on the Continent.
Still, of course, there was a small thing to be done. Uncle Maurice
must produce the needful. Annie could not travel to Paris without
money, and Uncle Maurice must supply it. She did not anticipate much
difficulty in getting the necessary sum from her uncle. Her dress was,
of course, very unsuitable for the time of triumph she hoped to have in
the gay capital and during her time abroad with Lady Lushington and
Mabel. But nevertheless, she was not going to fret about these things
in advance, and perhaps Uncle Maurice would be good for more than the
money for her journey.
She was seated now in a high gig, her uncle himself driving her. He had
come to meet her at the nearest railway station ten miles away, and as
the old horse jogged along and the old gig bumped over the uneven road
Annie congratulated herself again and again on having such a short time
to spend at home.
Mr Brooke was an old clergyman approaching seventy years of age. He had
lived in this one parish for over forty years; he loved every stone on
the road, every light on the hills, every bush that grew, every plant
that flowered; and as to the inhabitants of the little parish of
Rashleigh, they were to old Maurice Brooke as his own children.
He was pleased to see Annie, and showed it now by smiling at her from
time to time and doing his best to make her comfortable.
"Is the rug tucked tightly round you, Annie?" he said. "You will feel
the fresh air a bit after your time down south. It's fine air we have
in these ports--none finer in the land--but it's apt to be a little
fresh when you come new upon it. And how are you, my dear girl? I've
been looking, forward to your holidays. There's a great deal for you to
do, as usual."
"Oh uncle!" said Annie, "but you know I don't like doing things."
"Eh, my love?" said the old clergyman. "But we have to do them, all the
same, when they come to us in the guise of duty."
"That is what I hate," said Annie, speaking crossly. "Don't let's worry
about them to-night, Uncle Maurice; I have had a long journey, and am
tired."
"Poor bit thing!" said the old man. He stopped for a minute to pull the
rag up higher round Annie's knees. "Mrs Shelf is so pleased at your
coming back, Annie. She looks to you to help her with the preserving.
She is not as young as she was, and her rheumatism is worse."
"Oh, I hate rheumatic old folks!" thought Annie, but she did not say the
words aloud.
By-and-by they reached the Rectory, and while the rector took old Rover
back to his stable Annie ran into the house.