The Long Vacation | Page 2

DARBY AND JOAN
IV. SLUM, SEA, OR SEASON
V. A HAPPY SPRITE
VI. ST. ANDREW'S ROCK
VII. THE HOPE OF VANDERKIST
VIII. THE MOUSE-TRAP
IX. OUT BEYOND
X. NOBLESSE OBLIGE
XI. HEROES AND HERO-WORSHIP
XII. THE LITTLE BUTTERFLY
XIII. TWO SIDES OF A SHIELD AGAIN
XIV. BUTTERFLY'S NECTAR
XV. A POOR FOREIGN WIDOW
XVI. "SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES"
XVII. EXCLUDED
XVIII. THE EVIL STAR
XXX. SHOP-DRESSING
XX. FRENCH LEAVE
XXI. THE MASQUE
XXII. THE REGATTA
XXIII. ILLUMINATIONS
XXIV. COUNSELS OF PATIENCE
XXV. DESDICHADO
XXVI. THE SILENT STAR
XXVII. THE RED MANTLE
XXVIII. ROCCA MARINA
XXIX. ROWENA AND HER RIVAL
XXX. DREAMS AND NIGHTINGALES
XXXI. THE COLD SHOULDER
XXXII. THE TEST OF DAY-DREAMS
XXXIII. A MISSIONARY WEDDING
XXXIV. RIGHTED

THE LONG VACATION

CHAPTER I
. A
CHAPTER OF
RETROSPECT

Sorrow He gives and pain, good store; Toil to bear, for the neck which
bore; For duties rendered, a duty more; And lessons spelled in the
painful lore Of a war which is waged eternally.-—ANON.
"Ah! my Gerald boy! There you are! Quite well?"
Gerald Underwood, of slight delicate mould, with refined,
transparent-looking features, and with hair and budding moustache too
fair for his large dark eyes, came bounding up the broad stair, to the
embrace of the aunt who stood at the top, a little lame lady supported
by an ivory-headed staff. Her deep blue eyes, dark eyebrows, and sweet
though piquant face were framed by the straight crape line of
widowhood, whence a soft white veil hung on her shoulders.
"Cherie sweet! You are well? And the Vicar?"
"Getting on. How are they all at Vale Leston?"
"All right. Your mother got to church on Easter-day." This was to Anna
Vanderkist, a young person of the plump partridge order, and fair, rosy
countenance ever ready for smiles and laughter.
"Here are no end of flowers," as the butler brought a hamper.
"Daffodils! Oh!-—and anemones! How delicious! I must take Clement
a bunch of those dear white violets. I know where they came from,"
and she held them to her lips. "Some primroses too, I hope."
"A few; but the main body, tied up in tight bunches like cauliflowers, I
dropped at Kensington Palace Gardens."
"A yellow primrose is much more than a yellow primrose at present,"
said Mrs. Grinstead, picking out the few spared from political purposes.
"Clement will want his button-hole, to greet Lance."
"So he is advanced to button-holes! And Lance?"
"He is coming up for the Press dinner, and will sleep here, to be ready

for Primrose-day."
"That's prime, whatever brings him."
"There, children, go and do the flowers, and drink tea. I am going to
read to your uncle to keep him fresh for Lance."
"How bright she looks," said Gerald, as Anna began collecting vases
from the tables in a drawing-room not professionally artistic, but
entirely domestic, and full of grace and charm of taste, looking over a
suburban garden fresh with budding spring to a church spire.
"The thought of Uncle Lance has cheered them both very much."
"So the Vicar is really recovering?"
"Since Cousin Marilda flew at the curates, and told them that if they
came near him with their worries, they should never see a farthing of
hers! And they are all well at home? Is anything going on?"
"Chiefly defence of the copses from primrose marauders. You know
the great agitation. They want to set up a china clay factory on
Penbeacon, and turn the Ewe, not to say the Leston, into milk and
water."
"The wretches! But they can't. It is yours."
"Not the western quarry; but they cannot get the stream without a piece
of the land which belongs to Hodnet's farm, for which they make
astounding bids; but, any way, nothing can be done till I am of age,
when the lease to Hodnet is out, except by Act of Parliament, which is
hardly worth while, considering—-"
"That you are near twenty. But surely you won't consent?"
"Well, I don't want to break all your hearts, Cherie's especially, but why
should all that space be nothing but a playground for us Underwoods,
instead of making work for the million?"
"And a horrid, nasty million it would be," retorted Anna. "You born
Yankee! Don't worry Aunt Cherry about profaning the Ewe, just to
spoil good calico with nasty yellow dust."
"I don't want to worry her, but there never were such groovy people as
you are! I shall think it over, and make up my mind by the time I have
the power."
"I wish you had to wait till five-and-twenty, so as to get more time and
sense."
Gerald laughed, and sauntered away. He was not Yankee, except that
he had been born at Boston. His father was English, his mother a

Hungarian singer, who had divorced