And as time went on, John seemed to take a more personal delight in life than he had done before.  He forgot his ancient prejudices if not his ancient ideals, and, as was characteristic of him, he avoided thinking with any definiteness on the nature of the new life into which he was to enter soon.  His neighbours declared he was very much improved; and there were dinner parties at Thornby Place.  One of his great pleasures was to start early in the morning, and having spent a long day with Kitty, to return home across the downs.  The lofty, lonely landscape, with its lengthy hills defined upon the flushes of July, came in happy contrast with the noisy hours of tennis and girls; and standing on the gently ascending slopes, rising almost from the wicket gate of the rectory, he would wave farewells to Kitty and the Austins.  And in the glittering morning, grey and dewy, when he descended these slopes to the strip of land that lies between them and the sea, he would pause on the last verge where the barn stands.  Squire Austin’s woods are in front, and they stretch by the town to the sleepy river with its spiderlike bridge crossing the sandy marshes.  The church spire and roofs show through each break in the elm trees, and higher still the horizon of the sea is shimmering.

The rectory is rich brown brick and tiles.  About it there is an ample farmyard.  Mr Hare has but the house and an adjoining field, the three great ricks are Mr Austin’s; the sunlight is upon them, and through the long shadows the cart horses are moving with the drays; and now a hundred pigeons rise and are seen against the green velvet of the elms, and one bird’s wings are white upon the white sea.

Mr Hare is sitting in the verandah smoking, Kitty is attending to her birds.

“Good morning, John,” she cried, “but I can’t shake hands with you, my hands are dirty.  Do you talk to father, I haven’t a moment.  There is such a lot to do.  You know the Miss Austins are coming here to early dinner, and we have two young men coming from Worthing to play tennis.  The court isn’t marked yet.”

“I will help you to mark it.”

“Very well, but I am not ready yet.”

John lit a cigar, and he spoke of books to Mr Hare, whom he considered a gross Philistine, although a worthy man.  The shadows of the Virginia creeper fell on the red pavement, and Kitty’s light voice was heard on the staircase.  Presently she appeared, and lifting the trailing foliage, she spoke to him.  She took him away, and the parson watched the white lines being marked on the sward.  He watched them walk by the iron railing that separated Little Leywood from Leywood, the Squire’s house.  They passed through a small wooden gate into a bit of thick wood, and so gained the drive.  Mr Austin took John to see the horses, Kitty ran to see the girls who were in their room dressing.  How they chattered as they came down stairs, and with what lightness and laughter they went to Little Leywood.  Their