But there's no use to try for
that."
"How goes it, Mary?" said the Doctor heartily, coming in, all in a heat,
and sun-burnt, with Starke.
Both men were past the prime of life, thin, and stooped, but Starke's
frame was tough and weather-cured. He was good for ten years longer in
the world than Dr. Bowdler.
"I've just been looking at the stock. Full and plenty, in every corner,
as I say to Joseph. It warms me up to come here, Starke. I don't know a
healthier, more cheerful farm on these hills than just this one."
Starke's face brightened.
"The ground's not overly rich, Sir. Tough work, tough work; but I like
it. I'm saving off it, too. We put by a hundred or two last year; same
next, God willing. For Richard, Dr. Bowdler. We want enough to give him
a thorough education, and then let him rough it with the others. That
will be the best way to bring out the stuff that's in him. It's good
stuff," in an under-tone.
"How old is he?" said Miss Defourchet.
"Two years last February," said Jane, eagerly.
"Two years; yes. He's my namesake, Mary, did you know? Where is the
young lion?"
"Why, yes, mother. Why isn't Richard down? Morning nap? Hoot, toot!
bring the boy down!"
Miss Defourchet, while Jane went for the boy, noticed how heavy the
scent of the syringas grew, how the bees droned down into a luxurious
delight in the hot noon.
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