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It gaped now and, just as the cab climbed Cator
Hill, it fell forward and flung the contents on to the floor.
Maggie, blushing, looked up expecting a reproof. She saw that her
aunt's eyes were fixed upon the view; as upon the day of her
arrival, so now. Her face wore a look of rapture. She drank it in.
Maggie also took the last joy of the familiar scene. The Vicarage,
like a grey crouching cat, lay basking on the green hill. The
sunlight flooded the dark wood; galleons of clouds rolled like
lumbering vessels across the blue sky.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" whispered Maggie.
"Beautiful--beautiful," sighed her aunt.
"I've always loved just this view. I've often walked here just to
see it," Maggie said.
Aunt Anne sat back in her seat.
"It's been hard for me always to live in London. I love the country
so."
"So do I," said Maggie, passionately.
For a moment they were together, caught up by the same happiness.
Then Aunt Anne said:
"Why, your bag, dear! The things are all about the place."
Maggie bent down. When she looked up again they had dipped down on
the other side of the hill.


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