Howards End

sprung up at the very jaws of the garage. And Evie’s rockery was only bumps. Perhaps Evie was responsible for Miss Avery’s oddness. But Margaret suspected that the cause lay deeper, and that the girl’s silly letter had but loosed the irritation of years.
    "It’s a beautiful meadow," she remarked. It was one of those open–air drawing–rooms that have been formed, hundreds of years ago, out of the smaller fields. So the boundary hedge zigzagged down the hill at right angles, and at the bottom there was a little green annex—a sort of powder–closet for the cows.
    "Yes, the maidy’s well enough," said Miss Avery, "for those, that is, who don’t suffer from sneezing." And she cackled maliciously. "I’ve seen Charlie Wilcox go out to my lads in hay time—oh, they ought to do this—they mustn’t do that—he’d learn them to be lads. And just then the tickling took him. He has it from his father, with other things. There’s not one Wilcox that can stand up against a field in June—I laughed fit to burst while he was courting Ruth."
    "My brother gets hay fever too," said Margaret.
    "This house lies too much on the land for them. Naturally, they were glad enough to slip in at first. But Wilcoxes are better than nothing, as I see you’ve found."
    Margaret laughed.
    "They keep a place going, don’t they? Yes, it is just that."
    "They keep England going, it is my opinion."
    But Miss Avery upset her by replying: "Ay, they breed like rabbits. Well, well, it’s a funny world. But He who made it knows what He wants in it, I suppose. If Mrs. Charlie is expecting her fourth, it isn’t for us to repine."
    "They breed and they also work," said Margaret, conscious of some invitation to disloyalty, which was echoed by the very breeze and by the songs of the birds. "It certainly is a funny world, but so long as men like my husband and his sons govern it, I think it’ll never be a bad one—never really bad."
    "No, better’n nothing," said Miss Avery, and turned to the wych–elm.
    On their way back to the farm she spoke of her old friend much more clearly than before. In the house Margaret had wondered whether she quite distinguished the first wife from the second. Now she said: "I never saw much of Ruth after her grandmother died, but we stayed civil. It was a very civil family. Old Mrs. Howard never spoke against anybody, nor let any one be turned away without food. Then it was never 'Trespassers will be prosecuted' in their land, but would people please not come in? Mrs. Howard was never created to run a farm."
    "Had they no men to help them?" Margaret asked.
    Miss Avery replied: "Things went on until there were no men."
    "Until Mr. Wilcox came along," corrected Margaret, anxious that her husband should receive his dues.
    "I suppose so; but Ruth should have married a—no disrespect to you to say this, for I take it you were intended to get Wilcox any way, whether she got him first or no."
    "Whom should she have married?"
    "A soldier!" exclaimed the old woman. "Some real soldier."
    Margaret was silent. It was a criticism of Henry’s character far more trenchant than any of her own. She felt dissatisfied.
    "But that’s all over," she went on. "A better time is coming now, though you’ve kept me long enough waiting. In a couple of weeks I’ll see your light shining through the hedge of an evening. Have you ordered in coals?"
    "We are not coming," said Margaret firmly. She respected Miss Avery too much to humour her. "No. Not coming. Never coming. It has all been a mistake. The furniture must be repacked at once, and I am very sorry, but I am making other arrangements, and must ask you to give me the keys."
    "Certainly, Mrs. Wilcox," said Miss Avery, and resigned her duties with a smile.
    Relieved at this conclusion, and having sent her compliments to Madge, Margaret walked back to the station. She had intended to go to the furniture warehouse and give directions for removal, but the muddle had turned out more extensive than she expected, so she decided to consult Henry. It was as well that she did this. He was strongly against employing the local man whom he had previously recommended, and advised her to store in London after all.
    But before this could be done an unexpected trouble fell upon her.

CHAPTER XXXIV
    It was not unexpected entirely. Aunt Juley’s health had been bad all winter. She had had a long series of colds and coughs, and had been too busy to get rid of them. She had scarcely