"I heard somebody yell out in the grounds--away down by the gate!"
she informed her mistress in a loud stage whisper which had a
curious note of pride in it, as if she were not too displeased at
seeing her doleful predictions so swiftly coming to pass.
Miss Cornelia took her by the shoulder--half-startled, half-dubious.
"What did they yell?"
"Just yelled a yell!"
"Lizzie!"
"I heard them!"
But she had cried "Wolf!" too often.
"You take a liver pill," said her mistress disgustedly, "and go to
bed."
Lizzie was about to protest both the verdict on her story and the
judgment on herself when the door in the hall was opened by Billy
to admit the new gardener. A handsome young fellow, in his late
twenties, he came two steps into the room and then stood there
respectfully with his cap in his hand, waiting for Miss Cornelia
to speak to him.
After a swift glance of observation that gave her food for thought
she did so.
"You are Brooks, the new gardener?"
The young man inclined his head.
"Yes, madam. The butler said you wanted to speak to me."
Miss Cornelia regarded him anew. His hands look soft--for a
gardener's, she thought. And his manners seem much too good for one
--Still--
"Come in," she said briskly. The young man advanced another two
steps. "You're the man my niece engaged in the city this afternoon?"
"Yes, madam." He seemed a little uneasy under her searching
scrutiny. She dropped her eyes.
"I could not verify your references as the Brays are in Canada--"
she proceeded.
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