from the beds to partaking of them with cream from a plate; he knew
without being told that she would not care for gambolling with other
children in the hay; he divined her desire to see the pigs and horses,
and it was near the pigsties that she met Francis Sales. He was tall
for twelve years old and Rose respected him for his age and size; but
she wondered why he was with the pigs instead of with his guests, to
whom his father drove him off with a laugh.

'Says he can't bear parties,' Mr. Sales remarked genially to Rose.
'What do you think of that?'

'I like pigs, too,' Rose answered, to be surprised by his prolonged
chuckle.

Mr. Sales, in the intervals of his familiar conversation with the
pigs, wanted to know why Rose had not brought her father with her.

'Oh, he's too old,' Rose said, rather shocked. Her father had always
seemed old to her, as indeed he was, for she was the child of his
second marriage, and her young mother had died when she was born. Her
stepsisters, devoted to the little girl, and perhaps not altogether
sorry to be rid of a stepmother younger than themselves, had tried to
make up for that loss, but they were much occupied with the social
activities of Radstowe and they belonged to an otherwise inactive
generation, so that if Rose had a grievance it was that they never
played games with her, never ran, or played ball or bowled hoops as
she saw the mothers of other children doing. For such sporting she had
to rely upon her nurse who was of rather a solemn nature and liked
little girls to behave demurely out of doors.