The severity of the May of 1885 had at last abated, and the arrows on
the vanes proved that they had not got fixed by rust, as many suspected,
in a north-easterly direction, by turning to the south and west, so that
those inhabitants of Great Britain who had not succumbed to pneumonia
were able to let their fires out, open their windows, and enjoy out-of-
door games with impunity.
Mrs Forsyth and Beatrice now reaped the benefit of their work in the
garden, for the tulips, the various _arias_ and _otises_ made the
borders resplendent, while the delicious scent of the wallflowers was
almost oppressive. The May blossom was full out on the hedge which
bounded the little domain, and the apple-trees in that part devoted to
fruit and vegetables were one mass of pink and white.
Though still at Sheen, the Forsyths were not in their original cottage.
When their fortunes changed for the better, Mrs Forsyth had moved into
a larger villa, with a verandah round it, and modest stabling, and a
nice lawn. And on this lawn white chalk lines were drawn, and a net
fixed, on one side of which Beatrice Forsyth, racquet in hand, was
employed in affording exercise for her brother Harry, who was on the
other. He took the large court to her small court, and as she had a
special talent for placing the balls, she made him run about rarely.
The original layer out of that garden, who flourished before lawn-tennis
was invented, had perpetrated a prophetic pun by planting a service tree
on one side of the ground, and under this sat Mrs Forsyth before a
garden table which had wools and work-box on it, for she could not bear
to sit idle. Not far from her, and still under the shade of the service
tree, was a lounging chair or couch of cane and wicker-work of the most
comfortable description, with arms so broad and flat that you could
lodge books and papers upon them, and the right arm had a circular
hollow to hold a tumbler.
In this chair reclined a good-looking young man, whose pale and delicate
features and thin hands told of recent illness, and together with a
crimson scar across his face gave him that appearance which ladies call
interesting, the effect being heightened by the shawls and rugs which
were strewn about him. Rice paper and a packet of Egyptian tobacco lay
on one of the arms of his couch, but it was only between the games that
he occasionally twiddled up a cigarette, so conscientiously did he
attend to his duties as umpire.
"Vantage out," said Harry, who was serving. Beatrice returned the ball
high, and very far back-indeed, and immediately cried--
"I think it was just in!"
"I think _not_," said Harry, grinning. "How was it, umpire?"
"Line ball!" said Kavanagh, who from his position could not possibly
have seen.
"Game and set!" cried Trix, delighted, though as a matter of fact the
ball had fallen a foot beyond the base line, and they both came to the
tree for a rest.
"I hope you will be able to play yourself soon," said Harry Forsyth.
"I could play now," replied Kavanagh; "my side does not hurt me a bit
whatever I do. It is only weakness that stops me, and I feel stronger
every morning."
"Then we shall have a four set without recourse to neighbours when Mary
Strachan arrives," said Beatrice.
"Mary Strachan! Is she coming?" cried Kavanagh.
"Yes; mamma asked her, and she is to arrive early next week."
"That _will_ be jolly! We only want Tom too."
"I don't despair of seeing _him_ before the autumn," said Harry. "I
heard from him yesterday, and he thought he should come home when the
Guards did. And if we kiss and make it up with the various folks we are
at loggerheads with, I don't think there will be much more fighting for
you military parties to do."
"Who do you mean?" asked Kavanagh. "I am not a military person. I have
got my discharge, sir, and might pass the commander-in-chief himself
without saluting. Not that I would though, God bless him."
"Is it not time that you had your jelly and glass of port wine?"
observed Mrs Forsyth.
"Not quite," said Harry; "Fatima would not let him miss it by a minute.
I believe she sits watching the clock, now she has learned what the
figures mean, and why the hands go round."
"That is right; speak up for your slave," said Beatrice. "Any
imputation upon her punctuality might depreciate her market value."
"I would not sell her for her weight in gold, and that must be something
towards settling the National Debt," said Harry. "She nursed me back
into life, I know."
"I can never repay her," murmured Mrs Forsyth.
At that moment the object of conversation appeared with a tray in her
hand, and a broad smile on her honest black face. She was robed in
white, with a red shawl and a yellow handkerchief round her head. They
had tried to put her into a print gown and a mob cap, but she looked so
queer and was so uncomfortable that they let her choose her own costume.
Nursing was certainly her strong point, and she tended Kavanagh as
carefully as if he had been a baby. Only she always thought it cold,
and wanted to smother him with wraps.
It was no use resisting, so he had to put them away quietly when her
back was turned.
"I shall have apoplexy if I am convalescent long," said Kavanagh,
swallowing the last spoonful of his jelly. "I am eating and drinking
good things the whole day long."
"But think of the privations you have to make up for," said Mrs
Forsyth.
"Oh, mother, what a dear you are!" cried Harry. "Now I know why we have
asparagus every day for dinner! _Apropos_ of dinner, who do you think
is coming to feed with us this evening, Kavanagh?"
"Invalids are excused guessing," said Kavanagh.
"Your old militia captain, Royce. He has got his majority now, by-the-
by, and he is set upon having you back into the regiment."
Royce was punctual; and I propose to you a novelty in story endings.
Let the curtain fall upon our friends as they are going in to dinner.