Part 11 (2/2)
”We're only arguing,” she said. ”We often do it.”
This was the little girl whom Mrs. Brent, now in her ample grave, had slapped and kissed and teased, to the edification of the Canipers. She had grown tall and very straight; her thick dark hair was twisted tightly round her head; her skirt was short, revealing firm ankles and wooden shoes, and she wore a jersey which fitted her body closely and left her brown neck bare. Her watchful eyes were like those of some shy animal, but her lips had the faculty of repose. Helen had once compared her to a mettlesome young horse and there was about her some quality of the male. She might have been a youth scorning pa.s.sion because she feared it.
”If it's a very important argument,” said Miriam, ”I'll retire. There's a sad baby calf down by your gate. I could go and talk to him.”
”Silly little beast!” Lily said; ”he's always making a fuss. Listen to this, Miriam. John wants to pay me for letting him work a strip of my land that's been lying idle all these years.”
”If you won't let me pay rent--”
”He hasn't any money, Lily.”
”I can try to pay you by helping on the farm. You can lie in bed and let me do your share of milking.”
”He'll do no harm,” Miriam a.s.serted.
”I know that. He's been doing odd jobs for us ever since we began carrying his vegetables to town. He likes to pay for all he gets. You're mean-spirited, John.”
”All right. I'll be mean-spirited, and I'll be here for this evening's milking.”
”That's settled, then,” she said, with a great semblance of relief.
”And Mrs. Caniper of Pinderwell House will be very much obliged if you'll let her have two chickens as soon as possible.”
”Certainly, miss. I'll go and see about them.”
Miriam let out a little scream and put her hands to her ears.
”No, no, don't kill them yet! Not till you're quite sure that I'm safely on the other side of the road. John, stop her!”
”You're a little goose,” Lily said. ”They're lying quite comfortably dead in the larder.”
”Oh, thank Heaven! Shall I tell you a horrible secret of my past life?
Once when I was very small, I crept through Halkett's larch-wood just to see what was happening down there, because Mrs. Samson had been hinting things, and what I saw--oh, what do you think I saw?” She shuddered and, covering her face, she let one bright eye peep round the protecting hand. ”I saw that idiot boy wringing a hen's neck! And now,” she ended, ”I simply can't eat chicken.”
”Dear, dear!” John said, and clucked his tongue. ”Dreadful confession of a young girl!”
Lily Brent was laughing. ”And to think I've wrung their necks myself!”
”Have you? Ugh! Nasty!”
”It is, but some one had to do it.”
”Don't do it again,” said John quickly.
She raised her eyebrows, met his glance, and looked away.
”I can't get on with my work while you two are gossiping here.”
”Come home, John. Father's iller. Notya's too much worried to be cross.
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