is the doctor there.'
'Better still! I'll be in touch with him, no doubt, when the time comes. Meanwhile, you stay here and get some sleep. I'll be in tomorrow.'
He closed the door behind him, leaving his patient in mental turmoil.
'Sleep!' muttered Robert crossly. 'What a hope! I must get Milly to ring the office straightaway and get young Frank to come over.'
He sat up suddenly, and was reminded of his weakness by a severe pain in the chest.
Rubbing it ruefully, he thought of further arrangements to be made.
'We'd better warn Joan and Edward, poor dears, that they may have a convalescent father on their hands in the near future.'
Nevertheless, the thought of Thrush Green in spring sunshine, gave comfort to the invalid in the midst of his trials.
In Miss Fogerty's classroom The Tailor of Gloucester had been returned to the shelf, the children had stacked their diminutive chairs upon the tables, leaving the floor clear for the cleaner's ministrations later, and now stood, hands together and eyes closed, waiting for their teacher to give the note for grace.
Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.
Now the darkness gathers
Stars begin to peep,
Birds and beasts and flowers
Soon will be asleep.
Amen
They sang much too loudly for Miss Fogerty's peace of mind. It sounded irreverent, she felt, but she had not the heart to reprove them, knowing how eagerly they were looking forward to running home through the first of the really warm days of spring.
She thought, not for the first time, that this particular closing hymn was not one of her favourites. That line 'Stars begin to peep', for instance, was a little premature at three-thirty, except in December perhaps, and in any case the word 'peep' seemed a trifle coy. But there, Miss Watson wanted the children to use that hymn, and she must fall in with her wishes in these little matters.
'Hands away! Good afternoon, children!' said Miss Fogerty briskly. 'Straight home now, and no shouting near the school windows. The big girls and boys are still working, remember.'
They streamed from the room comparatively quietly, and across the playground towards Thrush Green. Daisies starred the greensward, and the sticky buds of the chestnut trees were beginning to break into miniature fans of grey-green. The children raced happily to meet all the glory of a spring afternoon.
All except Timmy Thomas, always a rebel, who saw fit to stand beneath Miss Watson's window, put two fingers into his mouth and produce an ear-splitting whistle.
He was gratified to see his headmistress's face appear at the window. She shook her head at him sternly and pointed towards the gate. Miss Fogerty had emerged from her classroom, and also exhorted him to depart immediately.
Grinning, he went.
'That boy,' said Miss Watson later, 'will become a very unpleasant leader of students, or some such, as far as I can see!'
'He might make a happy marriage,' observed Miss Fogerty, more charitably, 'and settle down.'
'It seems a long time to wait,' commented her headmistress tartly.
One of the first of Miss Fogerty's pupils to reach home, was young Jeremy Prior who lived just across Thrush Green at Tullivers, a house as venerable as the Youngs', although not quite so imposing.
Jeremy enjoyed life at Thrush Green. His mother Phil had married for the second time, and his stepfather, Frank Hurst, was a man whose company he enjoyed. His own father had been killed in a car crash, but before that had happened he had left home to live in France with another woman, so that the child's memories of him were dim. Frank had given him the affection and care which he needed in his early years, and Jeremy flourished in the happy atmosphere surrounding him at Thrush Green.
Now, as he opened the gate, he was conscious, of his mother talking to friends in the garden.
One was Winnie Bailey, their next-door neighbour. The other was Ruth Lovell, the doctor's wife, and clutching her
'Better still! I'll be in touch with him, no doubt, when the time comes. Meanwhile, you stay here and get some sleep. I'll be in tomorrow.'
He closed the door behind him, leaving his patient in mental turmoil.
'Sleep!' muttered Robert crossly. 'What a hope! I must get Milly to ring the office straightaway and get young Frank to come over.'
He sat up suddenly, and was reminded of his weakness by a severe pain in the chest.
Rubbing it ruefully, he thought of further arrangements to be made.
'We'd better warn Joan and Edward, poor dears, that they may have a convalescent father on their hands in the near future.'
Nevertheless, the thought of Thrush Green in spring sunshine, gave comfort to the invalid in the midst of his trials.
In Miss Fogerty's classroom The Tailor of Gloucester had been returned to the shelf, the children had stacked their diminutive chairs upon the tables, leaving the floor clear for the cleaner's ministrations later, and now stood, hands together and eyes closed, waiting for their teacher to give the note for grace.
Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.
Now the darkness gathers
Stars begin to peep,
Birds and beasts and flowers
Soon will be asleep.
Amen
They sang much too loudly for Miss Fogerty's peace of mind. It sounded irreverent, she felt, but she had not the heart to reprove them, knowing how eagerly they were looking forward to running home through the first of the really warm days of spring.
She thought, not for the first time, that this particular closing hymn was not one of her favourites. That line 'Stars begin to peep', for instance, was a little premature at three-thirty, except in December perhaps, and in any case the word 'peep' seemed a trifle coy. But there, Miss Watson wanted the children to use that hymn, and she must fall in with her wishes in these little matters.
'Hands away! Good afternoon, children!' said Miss Fogerty briskly. 'Straight home now, and no shouting near the school windows. The big girls and boys are still working, remember.'
They streamed from the room comparatively quietly, and across the playground towards Thrush Green. Daisies starred the greensward, and the sticky buds of the chestnut trees were beginning to break into miniature fans of grey-green. The children raced happily to meet all the glory of a spring afternoon.
All except Timmy Thomas, always a rebel, who saw fit to stand beneath Miss Watson's window, put two fingers into his mouth and produce an ear-splitting whistle.
He was gratified to see his headmistress's face appear at the window. She shook her head at him sternly and pointed towards the gate. Miss Fogerty had emerged from her classroom, and also exhorted him to depart immediately.
Grinning, he went.
'That boy,' said Miss Watson later, 'will become a very unpleasant leader of students, or some such, as far as I can see!'
'He might make a happy marriage,' observed Miss Fogerty, more charitably, 'and settle down.'
'It seems a long time to wait,' commented her headmistress tartly.
One of the first of Miss Fogerty's pupils to reach home, was young Jeremy Prior who lived just across Thrush Green at Tullivers, a house as venerable as the Youngs', although not quite so imposing.
Jeremy enjoyed life at Thrush Green. His mother Phil had married for the second time, and his stepfather, Frank Hurst, was a man whose company he enjoyed. His own father had been killed in a car crash, but before that had happened he had left home to live in France with another woman, so that the child's memories of him were dim. Frank had given him the affection and care which he needed in his early years, and Jeremy flourished in the happy atmosphere surrounding him at Thrush Green.
Now, as he opened the gate, he was conscious, of his mother talking to friends in the garden.
One was Winnie Bailey, their next-door neighbour. The other was Ruth Lovell, the doctor's wife, and clutching her
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