East of the Shadows

"I wish you could. It would be better for you. And now let us settle down to a quiet morning, so that you will be quite rested and ready to go out if it is fine this afternoon."

"If the queen commands," he answered, with a little jesting smile. "The order shall be reversed this morning. You shall listen while I take a turn at reading."

A timely breeze sprang up about noon, and the sun, after wasting some time in playing an aggravating game of hide-and-seek behind the shifting masses of grey cloud, decided to come boldly out, to the great joy of the small birds who hopped on the lawn where the water hung like diamonds on every blade of grass. The sparrows chirruped with satisfaction as they pecked about for their midday meal, and the stout thrushes tugged at succulent worms which had poked their misguided heads through the soft damp earth regardless of probable and dire consequences.

In the swaying branches of the tree-tops the rooks used strong language--or it sounded like it--as they balanced themselves with clumsy ease and strove to straighten their ruffled plumage under circumstances which made toilet operations far from easy. The rabbits in the park popped their heads out of their holes and sniffed the air in an inquiring manner, as much as to say, "Is it safe to venture out?" and then, coming to the conclusion that it was, had a short quick scamper to stretch themselves after their slumbers.

The air was moist and fragrant as Philippa and Francis walked out of the front door to find the pony-carriage waiting for them.

"It is going to be a lovely afternoon," he said. "I want to drive in that direction to-day,"--he indicated it with his hand. "We haven't been there yet, and I know it leads to the village."

"Oh, do let us go up on the moor," said Philippa quickly.

"I want particularly to go to the village," he said in a low voice. "Do let us go there, darling. I want to see if I remember it."

At this moment Ford stepped forward. "Your telegram has come back, miss," he said. "The one you sent this morning. The woman at the post-office doesn't understand where it is to go to, and she can't read this word."

"What is it?" asked Francis, who had heard the man speaking.

"It is a telegram I sent this morning to--a friend in Russia, and there seems to be some muddle at the post-office about it."