Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre by Miss Read Page B

spring of a twenty-year-old. He was a handsome fellow, and I quite understood how he had appealed to Amy.
    He had the knack of making any woman feel that she was the only person in the world that interested him. He had a way of gazing intently into one's face, and although I was pretty sure that it was because he was short-sighted and too vain to wear spectacles, the result was still very pleasant.
    The countryside south of Caxley was more wooded than that around Fairacre, and we scuffed our shoes amongst drifts of dead leaves as we threaded our way through a
nearby copse. The bare branches creaked and rustled in a light breeze above us, and on the ground the rosettes of primrose leaves were already showing. It was heartening to see that the honeysuckle was already in tiny leaf, and blackbirds were calling to each other as if this mild weather were really spring.

    We emerged from the wood into a wide meadow where sheep grazed. The grass was pale and dry, but the animals ate steadily, only raising their heads briefly to survey us as, jaws rotating methodically, they gazed at us without interest.
    There was a stile before us which James vaulted in fine fashion, but Amy and I rested our arms upon it and gazed at the view. The horizon was the sort of blue one sees in Japanese prints, and beyond that, we knew, was the sea some seventy miles away. It was so peaceful and quiet that
we might have been looking at a landscape by John Constable, all thought of towns, traffic and the madness of men left far behind.
    'Are you coming?' called James from the distance.
    Amy looked at me questioningly.
    'As you like,' I said.
    'We're going back,' she shouted.
    James nodded and retraced his steps. He made another gallant attempt to clear the stile, but caught his foot on the top bar and fell.
    He was unhurt, and lay on the ground laughing.
    'You shouldn't show off at your age,' said Amy sternly.
    But she was kind enough to haul him upright.

    On Boxing Day Amy announced that a few old friends were coming for a midday drink.
    'Everyone will be having cold turkey anyway,' she said, 'so that no one will have to worry about rushing back to see if all's well in the oven.'
    'But they might have mince pies,' I pointed out.
    'That's their lookout,' replied my friend, filling up delectable little silver receptacles, which my grandmother used to call 'bonbon dishes', with roasted almonds, cashew nuts and minute cheesy morsels.
    'Do I know any of them?'
    'John and Mary from next door. Bella and Bob from down the lane, and two very nice bachelors I wanted you to meet.'
    My heart sank. Amy is an inveterate matchmaker, and after years of patient - and impatient - explanations on my part, she still harbours the hope that she will one day turn me into a middle-aged bride.
    I forbore to question her more on the matter, but
carried the little dishes into the sitting room and disposed them in strategic positions, only to watch Amy positioning them elsewhere when she came in.
    The guests duly arrived. The married couples I had met before, and we greeted each other affectionately. We all agreed that the weather was unseasonably mild - and quoted: 'a green Christmas makes a full churchyard' - but what a blessing there was no snow! (Who, apart from Bing Crosby, we said, wanted a white Christmas?)
    Both bachelors were of a suitable age to be married to me one day should any of the three of us feel inclined, but they were cheerful company, and prattled away about ski-ing and cheese dishes.
    I was not much help to the one who was going ski-ing, but his companion, who had been given nearly three pounds of cheese for Christmas, was given a few recipes from my memory.
    'Would you like some?' he asked eagerly. 'I could easily run over to Fairacre with a lump of Cheddar or Stilton - no bother at all.'
    'It's terribly kind of you,' I replied, 'but I've been given quite a lot of cheese too, and shall have the deuce of a time eating it up.'
    Afterwards, when all our guests