"Won't Lady Evesham come too?" asked Crowther, as he rose.

Avery rose also. "Yes, I have promised the children to join them in the cornfield," she said.

Piers said nothing; but she had a very distinct impression that he would have preferred her to remain behind. The wonder crossed her mind if he were jealous because he could no longer have her exclusively to himself.

They walked down through the park to the farm. It was a splendid August evening. The reaping was still in progress, and the whirr of the machine rose slumbrous through the stillness. But of the Vicarage children there was at first no sign.

Avery searched for them in surprise. She had sent a picnic basket down to the farm earlier in the afternoon, and she had expected to find them enjoying the contents thereof in a shady corner. But for a time she searched in vain.

"They must have gone home," said Piers.

But she did not believe they would have left without seeing her, and she went to the farm to make enquiries.

Here she heard that the picnic-party had taken place and that the basket had been brought back by one of the men, but for some reason the children had evidently gone home early, for they had not been seen since.

Avery wanted to run to the Vicarage and ascertain if all were well, but Piers vetoed this.

"It's too hot," he said. "And you'll only come in for some row with the Reverend Stephen. I won't have you go, Avery. Stay with us!"

His tone was peremptory, and Avery realized that his a.s.sumption of authority was intentional. A rebellious spirit awoke within her, but she checked it. Something had gone wrong, she was sure. He would tell her presently what it was.

She yielded therefore to his desire and remained with them. They spent a considerable time in the neighbourhood of the farm, in all of which Crowther took a keen interest. Avery tried to be interested too, but Piers' behaviour troubled and perplexed her. He seemed to be all on edge, and more than once his manner to Crowther also verged upon abruptness.

They were leaving the farm to turn homeward when there came to Avery the sound of flying feet along the lane outside. She went to the gate, and beheld Gracie, her face crimson with heat, racing towards her.

Avery moved to meet her, surprised by her sudden appearance. She was still more surprised when Gracie reached her, flung tempestuous arms about her, and broke into stormy crying on her breast.

"My dear! My dear! What has happened?" Avery asked in distress.

But Gracie was for the moment quite beyond speech. She hung upon Avery, crying as if her heart would break.

Piers came swiftly down the path. "Why, Pixie, what's the matter?" he said.

He put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gently to lean against himself, for in her paroxysm of weeping she had thrown herself upon Avery with childish unrestraint.

"Who's been bullying you, Pixie?" he said.

"n.o.body! n.o.body!" sobbed Gracie. She transferred herself to his arms almost mechanically, so overwhelming was her woe. "Oh, it's dreadful!

It's dreadful!" she cried.

He patted her soothingly, his cheek against her fair hair. "Well, what is it, kiddie? Let's hear! One of the youngsters in trouble, what? Not Jeanie, I say?"

"No, no, no! It's--Mike." The name came out with a great burst of tears.

"Mike!" Piers looked at Avery, mystified for the moment. "Ah, to be sure!

The dog! Well, what's happened to him? He isn't dead, what?"

"He is! He is!" sobbed Gracie. "He--he has been killed--by--by his own chain!"

"What!" said Piers again.

Gaspingly she told him the tragic tale. "Father always will have him kept on the chain, and--and--"

"An infernally cruel thing to do!" broke indignantly from Piers.

"Yes, we--we all said so. And we tried to give him little outings sometimes to--to make up. But to-day--somehow--we forgot him, and--and he must have seen us go, and jumped the wall after us. Pat and I went back afterwards to fetch him, and found him--found him--oh, Piers!" She cried out in sudden agony and said no more.

"Choked?" said Piers. "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" He looked up again at Avery with something unfathomable in his eyes. "Oh, don't cry so, child!" he said. "A chained creature is happier dead--a thousand times happier!"

He spoke pa.s.sionately, so pa.s.sionately that Gracie's wild grief was stayed. She lifted her face, all streaming with tears. "Do you think so really?"

"Of course I think so," he said. "Life on a chain is misery unspeakable.

No one with any heart could condemn a dog to that! It's the refinement of cruelty. Don't wish the poor beast back again! Be thankful he's gone!"

The vehemence of his speech was such that it carried conviction even to Gracie's torn heart. She looked up at him with something of wonder and of awe. "If only--he hadn't suffered so!" she whispered.

He put his hand on her forehead and smoothed back the cl.u.s.tering hair.

"You poor kid!" he said pityingly. "You've suffered much more than he did at the end. But it's over. Don't fret! Don't fret!"

Gracie lifted trembling lips to be kissed. He was drying her eyes with his own handkerchief as tenderly as any woman. He stooped and kissed her.

"Look here! I'll walk home with you," he said. "Avery, you go back with Crowther! I shan't be late."

Avery turned at once. The sight of Piers soothing the little girl's distress had comforted her subtly. She felt that his mood had softened.

"Won't you go too?" said Crowther, as she joined him. "Please don't stay on my account! I am used to being alone, and I can find my own way back."

"Oh no!" she said. "I had better come with you. I shan't be wanted now."

They started to walk back among the shocks of corn; but they had not gone many yards when Gracie came running after them, reached them, flung her arms about Avery.

"Good-bye, darling Avery!" she said.

Avery held her close. She was sobbing still, but the first wild anguish of her grief was past.

"Good-bye, darling!" Avery whispered, after a moment.

Grade's arms tightened. "You think like Piers does?" she murmured. "You think poor Mikey is happier now?"

Avery paused an instant. The memory of Piers' look as he had uttered the words: "Choked with his own chain, poor devil!" seemed to grip her heart.

Then: "Yes, dearie," she said softly. "I think as Piers does. I am glad--for poor Mikey's sake--that his troubles are over."

"Then I'll try and be glad too," sobbed poor Gracie. "But it's very, very difficult. Pat and I loved him so, and he--he loved us."

"My dear, that love won't die," Avery said gently.

"The gift immortal," said Crowther. "The only thing that counts."

She looked round at him quickly, but his eyes were gazing straight into the sunset--steadfast eyes that saw to the very heart of things.