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"
He
had
more
tow
on
his
distaffeThan
Gerveis
knew
.
"
—
CHAUCER
.
The
ride
to
Stone
Court
,
which
Fred
and
Rosamond
took
the
next
morning
,
lay
through
a
pretty
bit
of
midland
landscape
,
almost
all
meadows
and
pastures
,
with
hedgerows
still
allowed
to
grow
in
bushy
beauty
and
to
spread
out
coral
fruit
for
the
birds
.
Little
details
gave
each
field
a
particular
physiognomy
,
dear
to
the
eyes
that
have
looked
on
them
from
childhood
:
the
pool
in
the
corner
where
the
grasses
were
dank
and
trees
leaned
whisperingly
;
the
great
oak
shadowing
a
bare
place
in
mid
-
pasture
;
the
high
bank
where
the
ash
-
trees
grew
;
the
sudden
slope
of
the
old
marl
-
pit
making
a
red
background
for
the
burdock
;
the
huddled
roofs
and
ricks
of
the
homestead
without
a
traceable
way
of
approach
;
the
gray
gate
and
fences
against
the
depths
of
the
bordering
wood
;
and
the
stray
hovel
,
its
old
,
old
thatch
full
of
mossy
hills
and
valleys
with
wondrous
modulations
of
light
and
shadow
such
as
we
travel
far
to
see
in
later
life
,
and
see
larger
,
but
not
more
beautiful
.
These
are
the
things
that
make
the
gamut
of
joy
in
landscape
to
midland
-
bred
souls
—
the
things
they
toddled
among
,
or
perhaps
learned
by
heart
standing
between
their
father
’
s
knees
while
he
drove
leisurely
.
But
the
road
,
even
the
byroad
,
was
excellent
;
for
Lowick
,
as
we
have
seen
,
was
not
a
parish
of
muddy
lanes
and
poor
tenants
;
and
it
was
into
Lowick
parish
that
Fred
and
Rosamond
entered
after
a
couple
of
miles
’
riding
.
Another
mile
would
bring
them
to
Stone
Court
,
and
at
the
end
of
the
first
half
,
the
house
was
already
visible
,
looking
as
if
it
had
been
arrested
in
its
growth
toward
a
stone
mansion
by
an
unexpected
budding
of
farm
-
buildings
on
its
left
flank
,
which
had
hindered
it
from
becoming
anything
more
than
the
substantial
dwelling
of
a
gentleman
farmer
.
It
was
not
the
less
agreeable
an
object
in
the
distance
for
the
cluster
of
pinnacled
corn
-
ricks
which
balanced
the
fine
row
of
walnuts
on
the
right
.
Presently
it
was
possible
to
discern
something
that
might
be
a
gig
on
the
circular
drive
before
the
front
door
.
"
Dear
me
,
"
said
Rosamond
,
"
I
hope
none
of
my
uncle
’
s
horrible
relations
are
there
.
"
"
They
are
,
though
.
That
is
Mrs
.
Waule
’
s
gig
—
the
last
yellow
gig
left
,
I
should
think
.
When
I
see
Mrs
.
Waule
in
it
,
I
understand
how
yellow
can
have
been
worn
for
mourning
.
That
gig
seems
to
me
more
funereal
than
a
hearse
.
But
then
Mrs
.
Waule
always
has
black
crape
on
.
How
does
she
manage
it
,
Rosy
?
Her
friends
can
’
t
always
be
dying
.
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
at
all
.
And
she
is
not
in
the
least
evangelical
,
"
said
Rosamond
,
reflectively
,
as
if
that
religious
point
of
view
would
have
fully
accounted
for
perpetual
crape
.
"
And
,
not
poor
,
"
she
added
,
after
a
moment
’
s
pause
.
"
No
,
by
George
!
They
are
as
rich
as
Jews
,
those
Waules
and
Featherstones
;
I
mean
,
for
people
like
them
,
who
don
’
t
want
to
spend
anything
.
And
yet
they
hang
about
my
uncle
like
vultures
,
and
are
afraid
of
a
farthing
going
away
from
their
side
of
the
family
.
But
I
believe
he
hates
them
all
.
"
