David smiled down at her. "I told you when I called on you, Godmama," he said, "that my cousin has given me the living of Singleton. I am most fortunate. And I shall be starting my work there at the beginning of summer."

"That is nonsense, of course," she said. "You would die of boredom in such a life within a month, Davy. I have been thinking about the matter, and I have decided to bring you to the attention of my friend Bishop Haines. He will find something more suitable for you here."

It took David many minutes of patient talk to persuade his godmother that indeed he had no wish for the appointment that she was convinced she could make possible for him. She seemed still not to believe at the end of their conversation that he really wished to begin his work in a country parish, longed to make a start, in fact.

"You are a proud and stubborn boy, Davy," she said at last, laying a gnarled hand on his arm. "You always were, I remember. I had forgotten that. But enough. This is a party. Let me introduce you to some people who might be useful to you when you do decide to settle in town."

And David had to be content to leave her unconvinced. And he was forced to spend another half-hour conversing with the people who she deemed would be useful to him. At the end of that time his face was stiff from smiling and he felt weary from the unaccustomed social activity. He longed to see a familiar face. Where was Algie? he wondered. But even greater than the desire to see someone he knew was the need for peace and quiet.

There was a thicket running down the eastern side of the grounds, and if he remembered correctly, there was a small stream trickling through it down to the river. He could imagine no more pleasant diversion at the moment than to go and find it. If only no other guests had decided to stroll that way! He slipped among the trees when he thought no one was observing him, feeling only a slight pang of guilt. No one would miss him for half an hour.