For Margaret’s honeymoon—­that, is, such of it as she had not enjoyed before her marriage—­was to consist of a change of residence from the cottage, and a walk up the garden and through the hedge of gracious Memories, to the wider—­ah, how much wider!—­as much wider and larger and more beautiful as wifehood at its best is wider and larger and more beautiful than maidenhood at its best—­to the wider accommodation of the Red House.  And Mrs. Carre was determined that it should be speckless and sweet, and fit in every way for the coming of so beautiful a bride.

She had found them a young girl, Betsy Lefevre, a niece of her own, to serve as handmaid during their occupancy of the house, but insisted herself on acting as cook and general housekeeper.  Miss Penny was to reside at the cottage for a week after the wedding, but was to go up the garden to her meals, and at the end of that time she was to join them at the Red House as an honoured guest.

And the kitchen at the cottage, and the kitchen at the House, and several other kitchens in the neighbourhood, were baking gache enough apparently to feed a regiment, and as the day approached, roasts of beef and mutton, and hams and other substantial fare, were much in evidence.  And the kitchens were thronged with ladies in sun-bonnets, which had originally been black but were now somewhat off-colour with age and weather, and all the ladies’ faces were as full of importance as if they had been Cabinet ministers in the throes of a crisis.

Among these concentric energies, Margaret and Miss Penny completed their own simple preparations, and Graeme busied himself with the details of the children’s feast which was to take place in an adjacent field.

He went down to the harbour to meet the Tuesday morning’s boat which was to bring over the fruit and frivolities ordered from Guernsey—­strawberries enough to start a jam factory, grapes enough to stock a greengrocer’s shop, chocolates, sweets, Christmas crackers and fancy biscuits, in what he hoped would prove sufficiency, but had his doubts at times when he saw the eager expectancy with which he was regarded by every youngster he met.

He was just starting out when Johnnie Vautrin hailed him from his lair in the hedge.

“Heh, Mist’ Graeme!  I seen—­”

“Better not, Johnnie!” he said, with a warning finger.  “If it’s anything uncomfortable I’ll come right over and jump on you and Marrlyou.”

“Goderabetin, you dassen’t!”

“Oh, dassen’t I?  If you don’t see everything good for this week, and fine weather too, you little imp, I’ll—­”

“Que-hou-hou!” croaked Johnnie, and Marielihou yawned and made a futile attempt to wash behind her ears but found it discomforting to a sore hind-leg, so gave it up and spat at him instead.

“And, moreover, I won’t have you at my party.”

“Hou-hou!  I’m coming.  Ma’m’zelle she ask me.”

“I’ll tell her to send you back-word.”