The doctor's procrastination stole the second seven days as it had
stolen the first.
"Those people mean to make us some difficulty," said Mr. Fairfax with
secret irritation.
Mr. John Short gave no encouragement to this suspicion; instead, he
urged the visit to Beechhurst. "We need not give more than three days to
it--one to go, one to stay, one to return," said he.
Mr. Fairfax objected that he disliked travelling in a fuss. The lawyer
could return when their business was accomplished; as for himself, being
in the Forest, he should make a tour of it, the weather favoring. And
thus the journey was settled.
* * * * *
There was not a lovelier spot within children's foot-range of Beechhurst
than Great-Ash Ford. On a glowing midsummer day it was a perfect
paradise for idlers. Not far off, yet half buried out of sight amongst
its fruit trees, was a farmhouse thatched with reeds, very old, and
weather-stained of all golden, brown, and orange tints. A row of silver
firs was in the rear, and a sweep of the softest velvety sward stretched
from its narrow domain to the river. To watch the cattle come from the
farther pastures in single file across the shallow water at milking-time
was as pretty a bit of pastoral as could be seen in all the Forest.
Bessie Fairfax loved this spot with a peculiar affection. Beyond the
ford went a footpath, skirting the river, to the village of Brook, where
young Musgrave lived--a footpath overshadowed by such giant fir trees,
such beeches and vast oaks as are nowhere else in England.
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