Chapter 13

           OnSundayCliffordwantedtogointothewood.Itwasalovelymorning,thepear-blossomandplumhadsuddenlyappearedintheworldinawonderofwhitehereandthere.

           ItwascruelforClifford,whiletheworldbloomed,tohavetobehelpedfromchairtobath-chair.Buthehadforgotten,andevenseemedtohaveacertainconceitofhimselfinhislameness.Conniestillsuffered,havingtolifthisinertlegsintoplace.MrsBoltondiditnow,orField.

           Shewaitedforhimatthetopofthedrive,attheedgeofthescreenofbeeches.Hischaircamepuffingalongwithasortofvaletudinarianslowimportance.Ashejoinedhiswifehesaid:

           ’SirCliffordonhisroamingsteed!’

           ’Snorting,atleast!’shelaughed.

           Hestoppedandlookedroundatthefacadeofthelong,lowoldbrownhouse.

           ’Wragbydoesn’twinkaneyelid!’hesaid.’Butthenwhyshouldit!Irideupontheachievementsofthemindofman,andthatbeatsahorse.’

           ’Isupposeitdoes.AndthesoulsinPlatoridinguptoheaveninatwo-horsechariotwouldgoinaFordcarnow,’shesaid.

           ’OraRolls-Royce:Platowasanaristocrat!’

           ’Quite!Nomoreblackhorsetothrashandmaltreat.Platoneverthoughtwe’dgoonebetterthanhisblacksteedandhiswhitesteed,andhavenosteedsatall,onlyanengine!’

           ’Onlyanengineandgas!’saidClifford.’IhopeIcanhavesomerepairsdonetotheoldplacenextyear.IthinkIshallhaveaboutathousandtospareforthat:butworkcostssomuch!’headded.

           ’Oh,good!’saidConnie.