place, and there were statues and sundials and stone-seats scattered
about with almost too profuse a hand. Mottos also were in great
evidence, and while a sundial reminded you that "_Tempus fugit,_"
an enticing resting-place somewhat bewilderingly bade you to "Bide a
wee." But then again the rustic seat in the pleached alley of laburnums
had carved on its back, "Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,"
so that, meditating on Keats, you could bide a wee with a clear
conscience. Indeed so copious was the wealth of familiar and
stimulating quotations that one of her subjects had once said that to
stroll in Lucia's garden was not only to enjoy her lovely flowers, but
to spend a simultaneous half hour with the best authors. There was a
dovecote of course, but since the cats always killed the doves, Mrs
Lucas had put up round the desecrated home several pigeons of
Copenhagen china, which were both imperishable as regards cats, and
also carried out the suggestion of humour in furniture. The humour had
attained the highest point of felicity when Peppino concealed a
mechanical nightingale in a bush, which sang "Jug-jug" in the most
realistic manner when you pulled a string. Georgie had not yet seen the
Copenhagen pigeons, or being rather short-sighted thought they were
real. Then, oh then, Peppino pulled the string, and for quite a long
time Georgie listened entranced to their melodious cooings. That served
him out for his "trap" about the real pear introduced among the stone
specimens. For in spite of the rarefied atmosphere of culture at
Riseholme, Riseholme knew how to "_desipere in loco_," and its
strenuous culture was often refreshed by these light refined touches.

Mrs Lucas walked quickly and decisively up and down the paths as she
waited for the summons to lunch, for the activity of her mind reacted
on her body, making her brisk in movement. On each side of her forehead
were hard neat undulations of black hair that concealed the tips of her