Aunt Patty's Paying Guests by Eglanton Thorne

THE old country house known as "Gay Bowers," which had been my aunt's home ever since she married, was situated some five miles from Chelmsford and no nearer to the railway. It was still early in the afternoon when I reached that station, but the air struck me as rather more than fresh as I stepped out of the train. I shivered as I buttoned my coat more tightly about me and looked round, hoping to discern a friendly face amid the bustling crowd on the platform, for I felt sure that my aunt would send some one to meet me.

"Nan! " said a voice beside me, and I turned to see a tall, well-set-up young fellow looking down on me with bright merry eyes. For a moment I was bewildered, then I recognised the face, which was still boyish in spite of the carefully cultivated moustache and the height from which he gazed on me. This was Jack Upsher, son of the Vicar of Greentree, the parish to which "Gay Bowers" belonged. He had been my playfellow when, as a child, I spent my summer holidays at "Gay Bowers"; but of late years he had been absent from the vicarage whenever I happened to visit aunt. So we had not met since we were both grown-up, and it was rather audacious of him to address me in that familiar way, but I did not resent it, especially as he hastened to add:

"I beg your pardon; I should have said 'Miss Darracott,' but you have altered so little from the 'Nan' I used to know, that the name sprang of itself to my lips."

"Indeed I hoped I had altered a good deal," was my reply. "But you are just the same, Jack, except that you have grown so immensely."

He laughed heartily as he shook my hand.

"That's right, Nan; call me 'Jack,' and snub me as you always did, and we shall feel quite at home together. How like you to tell me that I've grown, just as if I were a schoolboy home for the holidays!"

"It is perfectly true," I said.

"Exactly," he returned, "and I always had the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth from you. To be accurate, I stand precisely six feet in my socks."

"Then you have attained your highest ambition? " I said.

"Not quite," he replied; "but now you mention it, I remember that as a kid I always aspired to be six feet high. What have you in the way of luggage, for Mrs. Lucas has kindly granted me permission to drive you home, and the trap is waiting outside?"

I quickly found my trunk, and he directed a porter to carry it to the conveyance. Well did I know the high, old-fashioned phaeton which stood outside the station; but the horse which drew it was a recent acquisition and a more mettlesome creature than the Vicar usually drove. She would hardly stand while the porter strapped my trunk to the back of the vehicle and Jack helped me up and saw to my comfort.

"I am told that you require the greatest care," he said gravely, as he shook out a big, fur-lined cloak auntie had given him, and proceeded to envelop me in it, drawing the huge collar so high above my chin that little could be seen of me save my eyes and the tip of my nose. Then he placed a hot stone jar beneath my feet, drew a thick rug well over my knees and tucked it carefully in.

"How does that do? " he asked, surveying me with some satisfaction.

"First-rate," I said. "I feel ready for a journey to the North Pole."

"That's all right," he said as he sprang up beside me and signed to the groom to stand back. The man scrambled up behind us and we were off at a smart pace.

"What a splendid horse, and how it goes! " I said, in rather a shaky voice. It had never been my way to indulge in nervous qualms, indeed I had been contemptuous of girls who were easily frightened; but one effect of illness is to humble pride, and to my shame I now realised that I was sick with fear as Jack guided his high-stepping, swift bay mare through the market-traffic of the narrow streets of Chelmsford. For a few moments I heartily wished that Aunt Patty had engaged one of the slow, rumbling old station flys to bring me to her house.

"Yes, Bess is a beauty," said Jack proudly. "It was I who persuaded father to buy her. He was half afraid of her at first, indeed I rather think he is so still; but I hate to drive a horse that is as tame as a donkey."

He glanced at me as he spoke and added quickly, with a sudden change of manner, "You are not afraid, Nan, are you?"

"Of course not," I said hurriedly, jeopardising the character for speaking the truth with which he had credited me. I rallied my courage with the recollection of how in my childhood I had never been afraid of anything when Jack led the way, and as I saw the skill with which he drove, my fears soon vanished. We were leaving the town behind, and I began to enjoy the drive. Thanks to my aunt's thoughtfulness I was so wrapped up as to be scarce conscious of the cold. I only felt that the air was deliciously fresh and clear, a delightful contrast to the dull, foggy atmosphere of London.

Many persons regard Essex as a flat and uninteresting county, but I had always found beauty in the woods and lanes. Even on this January day as we drove along muddy roads with brown hedges on either side, where sapless twigs and leafless roots waited for the touch of spring, the country did not lack charm for me. I marked with pleasure the beauty of "wintry boughs against a wintry sky," and the emerald freshness of pasture-lands thrown into relief by the rich brown of the upturned earth across which strong, shaggy horses were drawing the plough. We passed woods in which the ivy-surely a well-meaning if harmful parasite-was doing its utmost to clothe the bare trunks and limbs of trees with a garment of vivid green. And every now and then we caught a broad view of the open country and saw the woods and meadows melt into the exquisite blue haze of distance.