it? If I hadn't done that, Mr. James Rochester would never have come to see us, and we should never have got our heart's desire. Our Cedar Court."
"It isn't ours," said Lucilla—"only the garden and one room."
"Ah—but that garden and that room—don't you see what that is? It's the thin end of the wedge, my dear. And not such a very thin wedge either. And on second thoughts we won't talk about Cedar Court, because I want you to slip on your bonnet and pop up street, as cook used to say at school. What a long time ago that seems, doesn't it?"
"What do you want 'up street'?"
"Why, a bath-chair, of course," said Jane. "You don't suppose I can keep away from Cedar Court? And a carriage couldn't go all over the place. And a bath-chair can. And you can push it, can't you? We won't have any wheezy old pug of a bath-chair man spying on us. We'll take possession of Cedar Court all by ourselves—just us two."
They did. The key and the note from Mr, Rochester were duly brought that very evening by a sober-faced man-servant. The bath chair was found, with some difficulty. It was the only one in the district, Lucilla was assured—and the chickens had unfortunately taken to roosting on it, in the outhouse where it had spent its later years. But it should be well cleaned, miss, you might be sure, and brought round to Hope Cottage at ten to the minute. And it was.
It was, as Jane said, a moment worth living for, when, the big key having unlocked the wrought-iron gate, Jane and Lucilla and the bath-chair passed through.
"Lock the gate," said Jane. "We'll not leave it open till we've got our board up. We'll paint that to-night. What a lovely lot of things we've got to do."
"Garden first?" Lucilla asked, pushing the wicker bath-chair up the mossy drive.
"Rather—we'll keep the gas-green room for the last. Oh, look at the hyacinths 1 And the daffodils! And the narcissus! And the forget-me-nots just coming out!"
