When Grace had ascended nearly to the top of the adjoining slope she

looked back, and saw that Mrs. Charmond still stood at the door,

meditatively regarding her.

Often during the previous night, after his call on the Melburys,

Winterborne's thoughts ran upon Grace's announced visit to Hintock

House. Why could he not have proposed to walk with her part of the

way? Something told him that she might not, on such an occasion, care

for his company.

He was still more of that opinion when, standing in his garden next

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day, he saw her go past on the journey with such a pretty pride in the

event. He wondered if her father's ambition, which had purchased for

her the means of intellectual light and culture far beyond those of any

other native of the village, would conduce to the flight of her future

interests above and away from the local life which was once to her the

movement of the world.

Nevertheless, he had her father's permission to win her if he could;

and to this end it became desirable to bring matters soon to a crisis,

if he ever hoped to do so. If she should think herself too good for

him, he could let her go and make the best of his loss; but until he

had really tested her he could not say that she despised his suit. The

question was how to quicken events towards an issue.

He thought and thought, and at last decided that as good a way as any

would be to give a Christmas party, and ask Grace and her parents to

come as chief guests.

These ruminations were occupying him when there became audible a slight

knocking at his front door. He descended the path and looked out, and

beheld Marty South, dressed for out-door work.

"Why didn't you come, Mr. Winterborne?" she said. "I've been waiting

there hours and hours, and at last I thought I must try to find you."

"Bless my soul, I'd quite forgot," said Giles.

What he had forgotten was that there was a thousand young fir-trees to

be planted in a neighboring spot which had been cleared by the

wood-cutters, and that he had arranged to plant them with his own

hands. He had a marvellous power of making trees grow. Although he

would seem to shovel in the earth quite carelessly, there was a sort of

sympathy between himself and the fir, oak, or beech that he was

operating on, so that the roots took hold of the soil in a few days.

When, on the other hand, any of the journeymen planted, although they

seemed to go through an identically similar process, one quarter of the

trees would die away during the ensuing August.




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