Timmy walked across the
big, flat, white stones, kicking a pebble as he went. At last, when he
got close to the open gate, he hop-scotched, propelling the pebble far
into the road.
He was extremely disturbed and surprised. He went over and over
again what he had heard the two men say. The absurd suspicion of his
father filled him with angry hurt disgust. Why only yesterday the plan
of the village clubhouse had come from the architect! And then that
extraordinary disconcerting hint about his godfather? Godfrey Radmore
belonged in Timmy's imagination, first to himself, secondly to his
parents, and then, in a much less close way, to the rest of the Tosswill
family. A sensation of strong-dislike to the still unknown new tenant of
The Trellis House welled up in his secretive little heart, and instead of
going on round the village, he turned back and made his way straight
home.
As he walked along the short avenue which led to the front door of Old
Place he saw his mother kneeling on her gardening mat. He stepped up on
to the grass hoping to elude her sharp eyes and ears, but she had already
seen him.
"Hullo, Timmy!" she called out cheerfully. "What have you been doing with
yourself all this time?"
"I've been sitting reading in the stable-yard of The Trellis House.
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