Part 1 (2/2)
”Going up, miss?” he asked, with a cheerful grin.
She smiled a response, but said nothing.
The young fellow on top of the load looked down. His blue eyes sparkled merrily as he saw her.
”Are you coming?” he called.
She glanced up.
”If you like,” she answered.
”If I like!” he echoed, half-mockingly, half-tenderly; ”You know I like! Why, you've got that wretched bird with you!”
”He's not a wretched bird,” she said,--”He's a darling!”
”Well, you can't climb up here hugging him like that! Let him go,--and then I'll help you.”
For all answer she ascended the ladder lightly without a.s.sistance, still holding the dove, and in another minute was seated beside him.
”There!” she said, as she settled herself comfortably down in the soft, sweet-smelling hay. ”Now you've got your wish, and I hope Dad is happy.”
”Did he tell you to come, or did you come of your own accord?” asked the young man, with a touch of curiosity.
”He told me, of course,” she answered; ”I should never have come of my own accord.”
He bit his lip vexedly. Turning away from her he called to the haymakers:
”That'll do, boys! Fetch Roger, and haul in!”
The sun was nearing the western horizon and a deep apricot glow warmed the mown field and the undulating foliage in the far distance. The men began to scatter here and there, putting aside their long wooden rakes, and two of them went off to bring Roger, the cart-horse, from his shed.
”Uncle Hugo!”
The old man, who still sat impa.s.sively on the beer-barrel, looked up.
”Ay! What is it?”
”Are you coming along with us?”
Uncle Hugo shook his head despondently.
”Why not? It's the last load this year!”
”Ay!” He lifted his straw hat and waved it in a kind of farewell salute towards the waggon, repeating mechanically: ”The last load! The very last!”
Then there came a cessation of movement everywhere for the moment. It was a kind of breathing pause in Nature's everlasting chorus,--a sudden rest, as it seemed, in the very s.p.a.ces of the air. The young man threw himself down on the hay-load so that he faced the girl, who sat quiet, caressing the dove she held. He was undeniably good-looking, with an open n.o.bility of feature which is uncommon enough among well-born and carefully-nurtured specimens of the human race, and is perhaps still more rarely to be found among those whose lot in life is one of continuous hard manual labour. Just now he looked singularly attractive, the more so, perhaps, because he was unconscious of it. He stretched out one hand towards the girl and touched the hem of her white frock.
”Are you feeling kind?”
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