Volume I Part 36 (2/2)
”Well; but I 'm about to ask more than you suspect.”
”I do not retract. I am ready.”
”What I want, then, is that you should wheel that barrow-ful of mould as far as the melon-bed. I 'd have done it myself if you had not been here.”
With a seriousness which cost him no small effort to maintain, Conyers addressed himself at once to the task; and she walked along at his side, with a rake over her shoulder, talking with the same cool unconcern she would have bestowed on Darby.
”I have often told Miss Barrington,” said she, ”that our rock melons were finer than hers, because we used a peculiar composite earth, into which ash bark and soot entered,--what you are wheeling now, in fact, however hurtful it may be to your feelings. There! upset it exactly on that spot; and now let me see if you are equally handy with a spade.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: 276]
”I should like to know what my wages are to be after all this,” said he, as he spread the mould over the bed.
”We give boys about eightpence a day.”
”Boys! what do you mean by boys?”
”Everything that is not married is boy in Ireland; so don't be angry, or I 'll send you off. Pick up those stones, and throw these dock-weeds to one side.”
”You 'll send me a melon, at least, of my own raising, won't you?”
”I won't promise; Heaven knows where you'll be--where I 'll be, by that time! Would _you_ like to pledge yourself to anything on the day the ripe fruit shall glow between those pale leaves?”
”Perhaps I might,” said he, stealing a half-tender glance towards her.
”Well, I would not,” said she, looking him full and steadfastly in the face.
”Then that means you never cared very much for any one?”
”If I remember aright, you were engaged as a gardener, not as father confessor. Now, you are really not very expert at the former; but you 'll make sad work of the latter.”
”You have not a very exalted notion of my tact, Miss Dill.”
”I don't know,--I'm not sure; I suspect you have at least what the French call 'good dispositions.' You took to your wheelbarrow very nicely, and you tried to dig--as little like a gentleman as need be.”
”Well, if this does not bate Banagher, my name is n't Darby!” exclaimed a rough voice, and a hearty laugh followed his words. ”By my conscience, Miss Polly, it's only yerself could do it; and it's truth they say of you, you 'd get fun out of an archdaycon!”
Conyers flung away his spade, and shook the mould from his boots in irritation.
”Come, don't be cross,” said she, slipping her arm within his, and leading him away; ”don't spoil a very pleasant little adventure by ill humor. If these melons come to good, they shall be called after you.
You know that a Duke of Montmartre gave his name to a gooseberry; so be good, and, like him, you shall be immortal.”
”I should like very much to know one thing,” said he, thoughtfully.
”And what may that be?”
”I 'd like to know,--are you ever serious?”
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