Mrs Forsyth and Beatrice now reaped the benefit of their work in the garden, for the tulips, the various _arias_ and _otises_ made the borders resplendent, while the delicious scent of the wallflowers was almost oppressive. The May blossom was full out on the hedge which bounded the little domain, and the apple-trees in that part devoted to fruit and vegetables were one ma.s.s of pink and white.

Though still at Sheen, the Forsyths were not in their original cottage.

When their fortunes changed for the better, Mrs Forsyth had moved into a larger villa, with a verandah round it, and modest stabling, and a nice lawn. And on this lawn white chalk lines were drawn, and a net fixed, on one side of which Beatrice Forsyth, racquet in hand, was employed in affording exercise for her brother Harry, who was on the other. He took the large court to her small court, and as she had a special talent for placing the b.a.l.l.s, she made him run about rarely.

The original layer out of that garden, who flourished before lawn-tennis was invented, had perpetrated a prophetic pun by planting a service tree on one side of the ground, and under this sat Mrs Forsyth before a garden table which had wools and work-box on it, for she could not bear to sit idle. Not far from her, and still under the shade of the service tree, was a lounging chair or couch of cane and wicker-work of the most comfortable description, with arms so broad and flat that you could lodge books and papers upon them, and the right arm had a circular hollow to hold a tumbler.

In this chair reclined a good-looking young man, whose pale and delicate features and thin hands told of recent illness, and together with a crimson scar across his face gave him that appearance which ladies call interesting, the effect being heightened by the shawls and rugs which were strewn about him. Rice paper and a packet of Egyptian tobacco lay on one of the arms of his couch, but it was only between the games that he occasionally twiddled up a cigarette, so conscientiously did he attend to his duties as umpire.

"Vantage out," said Harry, who was serving. Beatrice returned the ball high, and very far back-indeed, and immediately cried--

"I think it was just in!"

"I think _not_," said Harry, grinning. "How was it, umpire?"

"Line ball!" said Kavanagh, who from his position could not possibly have seen.

"Game and set!" cried Trix, delighted, though as a matter of fact the ball had fallen a foot beyond the base line, and they both came to the tree for a rest.

"I hope you will be able to play yourself soon," said Harry Forsyth.

"I could play now," replied Kavanagh; "my side does not hurt me a bit whatever I do. It is only weakness that stops me, and I feel stronger every morning."

"Then we shall have a four set without recourse to neighbours when Mary Strachan arrives," said Beatrice.

"Mary Strachan! Is she coming?" cried Kavanagh.

"Yes; mamma asked her, and she is to arrive early next week."

"That _will_ be jolly! We only want Tom too."

"I don't despair of seeing _him_ before the autumn," said Harry. "I heard from him yesterday, and he thought he should come home when the Guards did. And if we kiss and make it up with the various folks we are at loggerheads with, I don't think there will be much more fighting for you military parties to do."

"Who do you mean?" asked Kavanagh. "I am not a military person. I have got my discharge, sir, and might pa.s.s the commander-in-chief himself without saluting. Not that I would though, G.o.d bless him."

"Is it not time that you had your jelly and gla.s.s of port wine?"

observed Mrs Forsyth.

"Not quite," said Harry; "Fatima would not let him miss it by a minute.

I believe she sits watching the clock, now she has learned what the figures mean, and why the hands go round."

"That is right; speak up for your slave," said Beatrice. "Any imputation upon her punctuality might depreciate her market value."

"I would not sell her for her weight in gold, and that must be something towards settling the National Debt," said Harry. "She nursed me back into life, I know."

"I can never repay her," murmured Mrs Forsyth.

At that moment the object of conversation appeared with a tray in her hand, and a broad smile on her honest black face. She was robed in white, with a red shawl and a yellow handkerchief round her head. They had tried to put her into a print gown and a mob cap, but she looked so queer and was so uncomfortable that they let her choose her own costume.

Nursing was certainly her strong point, and she tended Kavanagh as carefully as if he had been a baby. Only she always thought it cold, and wanted to smother him with wraps.

It was no use resisting, so he had to put them away quietly when her back was turned.

"I shall have apoplexy if I am convalescent long," said Kavanagh, swallowing the last spoonful of his jelly. "I am eating and drinking good things the whole day long."

"But think of the privations you have to make up for," said Mrs Forsyth.

"Oh, mother, what a dear you are!" cried Harry. "Now I know why we have asparagus every day for dinner! _Apropos_ of dinner, who do you think is coming to feed with us this evening, Kavanagh?"

"Invalids are excused guessing," said Kavanagh.

"Your old militia captain, Royce. He has got his majority now, by-the- by, and he is set upon having you back into the regiment."

Royce was punctual; and I propose to you a novelty in story endings.

Let the curtain fall upon our friends as they are going in to dinner.

THE END.