“Youwillletmehelpyouwashup，“saidClara。
“Eh，therearesofew，itwillonlytakeaminute，“saidtheother。
Clara，however，driedthetea-things，andwasgladtobeon，suchgoodtermswithhismother;butitwastorturenottobeable，tofollowhimdownthegarden。Atlastsheallowedherselftogo;
shefeltasifaropeweretakenoffherankle。
TheafternoonwasgoldenoverthehillsofDerbyshire。Hestood，acrossintheothergarden，besideabushofpaleMichaelmasdaisies，watchingthelastbeescrawlintothehive。Hearinghercoming，heturnedtoherwithaneasymotion，saying：