My Lady Bountiful by Fred M. White

A blackbird was piping madly in the apple orchard, a faint breeze stirred the elms. There was a murmur of bees in the air, the sharp tinkle of a whetstone against a scythe as Cedric pompously slaved away in a dark corner. Not the least surprising part of the exodus was the many sidedness of character displayed by Cedric. The mere idea of Cedric playing the part of gardener was past imagination; even Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram would never have dreamt of asking him to do anything of the kind. It was a pleasing feature in the hour of trouble.

And yet the trouble, once faced, had not been nearly so dreadful as on the first blush it appeared. Beacon Lodge would have been voted a delightful house by ordinary mortals. It stood high, and embraced the most charming views, as the house agents picturesquely put it; there was plenty of shade, and the garden and grounds were well matured--to quote the agent again.