with him."

"I never put him before Master Luke. No, no, Miss Bawn, I never put him
before my own boy. There, don't be talkin' about the Cardews, child.
What are they to you?"

I got up and went out; and while my thoughts were busy with my visit to
Dublin there would flash through them like warp and woof the thought of
Anthony Cardew, who had gone away before I was born and of whom so many
romantic stories were told. I felt that I must hear some of them, even
though the name of Cardew was not to be mentioned in our hearing.




CHAPTER VII

OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THINGS


I found my godmother watering her rose trees on the eastward side of the
house from which the sun had now departed. The grassy terraces before
the house smelt deliciously, for a water-sprinkler in the grass sent out
fine spray like a fountain. It was very hot weather, and I had walked
across; it had been cool enough in the shelter of the wood but the roads
had been blinding hot.

"Sit down, Bawn," she said, coming towards me, having left her hose to
run at the foot of a rose tree. "See how busy I am! Of course, a
gardener's boy would do it but I love to give drink to the thirsty."