Free These Delights by Sara Seale Page A

worldliness. “That would be carrying matters too far.”
    “Walk with me to Mo n kstor,” Vicky said suddenly to Luke. “The evening is so fine and you promised to show me the river.”
    “All right,” he argued indulgently; “but you must wait till I’ve had a word with Tom about the tractor.”
    Later, breasting the steep rise of the moor together, she hung on his arm and talked excitedly about the day she had spent . In the morning, the manure, and in the afternoon a bed of hay in the ba rn and the delights of Stevenson. She had long ago finished reading Wuthe r ing Heights , and had sampled many books from Luke’s shelves.
    “ You ’ re happy here, aren’t you, Vicky?” he asked, glancing with affection at the vivid profile at his shoulder.
    “Oh, very very happy,” she cried. “ We all are. We are so free and the country is beautiful. You are happy toda y too, Luke.”
    Yes, he was happy. Not with that bubbling almost violent happiness which at times seemed to fill this child, but content, and, now that she was with him, he caught a little of her own delight.
    They had reached the tor, and stood for a while as she had done that first day, drinking in the moor air and looking down at the spread of country below them. Now she knew what landmarks to look for. There was the estuary bright and tiny in the distance, with Plymouth hidden beyond, there the reservoir fed by the moorland streams, and away beyond, on the blue horizon, was the beginning of Cornwall and the sea.
    “The river,” she said, tugging at him.
    He showed her the little river Scaw, and the cattle ford of great flat stones which lay in the bed of the stream and trailed long streamers of bright green weed, and they sat on the bank and Vicky lay on her stomach and plunged her hands in the water.
    “I must teach you how to tickle trout,” he told her, watching her fingers, now pale and ghostly beneath the water.
    She looked up, laughing.
    “ Tickle fish!” she exclaimed, amused by the expression, which was new to her.
    He explained how it was done, and she vowed she would come to the river very early one morning and tickle trout for his breakfast. The thick, fair hair fell over her face, almost touching the water, and he had an impulse to ruffle it. She looked up again quickly, then rolled over on to her back and regarded him with clear, untroubled eyes.
    “You know,” she said, “there are two things about you I love, Cousin Luke.”
    “Really? What are they, Cousin Vicky?” he replied teasingly.
    “No, I’m serious. One is your hands, which are gentle, and the other —” She sat up suddenly and began twisting a long strand of hair round her tilted nose. “No, I shall not tell you the other—yet.”
    “What a child you are.” He laughed.
    “No, I’m not a child,” she said gravely.
    “Well,” said Luke, getting up and holding out his hands. “ You don’t look very adult trying to wind your hair round your nose. Come along, we must be getting back.”
    He pulled her up, and she broke away from him shouting: “I’ll race you,” but he soon caught her, and they walked, hand in hand, back to the farm.
    The Jordan s were impressed by Monksbridge Manor. “This,” said Pauline, awed, “must be one of the stately homes of England that Papa used to talk about. Diana must be very rich.”
    “It’s not very big really,” said Luke, amused. “One of the smaller manor houses, and not too well restored.”
    “The flower-beds are very neat,” said Vicky, sniffing. “I like your garden best, Cousin Hester.”
    “Well, don’t tell Sir Harry so,” Hester laughed. “His gardens are the apple of his eye.”
    “All that lovely lawn and poor Bibi not allowed, ” said Lou. He had not wanted to come, and had had to be persuaded tactfully to leave his rabbit behind.
    “They are probably all on the terrace at the back,” said Luke, and led the way round the house.
    Diana was there, elegant and pleasing in her blue linen