Part 14

"That was hardly necessary," I observed.

"Oh, one must do something, and there's nothing else to do."

"On the contrary, there's luncheon. We'll have that at once, so as to give us a good long afternoon."

"The afternoon will be long enough," she said. If I had not known that she was having a day's enjoyment, I should have thought that she seemed rather dejected in her manner.

* * * * *

The luncheon at the village inn was not expensive. Eliza said that their idea of chops was not her idea; but all the same she seemed inclined to spin the thing out and make it last as long as possible. I deprecated this, as I felt that I could not very well take my boots off again until I had returned to the field.

"Very well, then," she said. "Only let's go back slowly."

"As slowly as you like," I replied. "It's the right boot principally; but I prefer to walk slowly."

When we had resumed our old position under the hedge, and I had removed my boots, I said:

"Now, then, I think I've earned a pipe and a short nap. You amuse yourself in any way you like."

"Do what with myself?" she asked, rather sharply.

She walked twice round the field, and then I fell off to sleep. It turned out afterward that she also did the picturesque old church for the third time, and went over a house which was to let, refusing to take it on the ground that there was no bath-room. This was rather dishonest, as she would not have taken it if there had been a bath-room, or even two bath-rooms. I would not do that kind of thing myself. I awoke about tea-time. The charge for tea at the inn was very moderate, though Eliza said that there was tea which was tea, and tea which was an insult.

Eliza found that there was a train back at half-past six, and said she was going by it, whether I did or not, because it was a pity to have too much of a good thing, and she hadn't the face to ask for the keys of that church again. I accompanied her. I fancy that the brown leather is liable to shrink in the sun, and I was not unwilling to get back to my slippers and stretch myself out on the sofa.

There is nothing like a long day in the country; quite apart from the enjoyment, you feel that it is doing you so much good. I am sorry that Eliza did not seem to enter into the spirit of the thing more.

THE MUSHROOM

We were at breakfast one morning in the summer when the girl entered rather excitedly and said that to the best of her belief there was a mushroom coming in the little lawn in front of the house. It seemed a most extraordinary thing, and Eliza and I both went out to look at it. There was certainly something white coming through the turf; the only question was, whether or not it was a mushroom. The girl seemed certain about it. "Why," she said, "in my last place mushrooms was frequent. You see, being wealthy, they had anything they fancied. If I didn't know about mushrooms, I ought to!" There is a familiarity in that girl's manner which to my mind is highly objectionable. The establishment where she was formerly employed was apparently on a scale that we do not attempt. That does not justify her, however, in continually drawing comparisons. I shall certainly have something to say to her about it.

* * * * *

However, it was not about Jane that I intended to speak, but about the mushroom.

Eliza said that I ought to put a flowerpot over the mushroom, because, being visible from the road, some one might be tempted to come in and steal it. But I was too deep for that. "No," I replied, "if you put an inverted plant-pot there everybody will guess that you are hiding a mushroom underneath it. Just put a scrap of newspaper over it."

"But that might get blown away!"

"Fasten down one corner of it with a hairpin."

Eliza said that I was certainly one to think of things. I believe there is truth in that. On my way to the station I happened to meet Mr. Bungwall's gardener (a most obliging and respectful man), and had a word with him about the mushroom. He said that he would come round in the evening and have a look at it.

* * * * *

I was pleased to find (on my return) that the mushroom was still in the garden under the newspaper, and had increased slightly in size.

"This," I said to Eliza, "is very satisfactory."

"It would make a nice little present to send to mother," Eliza observed.

There I could not entirely agree with her. I pointed out that in a week's time I should probably be applying to her mother for a small temporary loan. I did not think it an honourable thing to attempt to influence her mind beforehand by sending a present. I wished her to approach the question of the loan purely in a business spirit. I added that I thought we would leave the mushroom to grow for one more day, and then have it for breakfast. That ultimately was decided upon.

Then Mr. Bungwall's gardener arrived, and said that he was sorry to disappoint us in any way, and it was not his fault, but the mushroom was a toadstool.