Volume I Part 71 (2/2)
”What are you doing?” he repeated.
”I am putting a patch on my shoe.”
His look expressed more indignation than anything else.
”What do you mean?”
”Just what I say,” said Fleda, going on with her work.
”What in the name of all the cobblers in the land do you do it for?”
”Because I prefer it to having a hole in my shoe; which would give me the additional trouble of mending my stockings.”
Charlton muttered an impatient sentence, of which Fleda only understood that ”the devil” was in it, and then desired to know if whole shoes would not answer the purpose as well as either holes or patches.
”Quite ? if I had them,” said Fleda, giving him another glance, which, with all its gravity and sweetness, carried also a little gentle reproach.
”But do you know,” said he, after standing still a minute looking at her, ”that any cobbler in the country would do what you are doing much better for sixpence?”
”I am quite aware of that,” said Fleda, st.i.tching away.
”Your hands are not strong enough for that work.”
Fleda again smiled at him, in the very dint of giving a hard push to her needle ? a smile that would have witched him into good humour if he had not been determinately in a cloud, and proof against everything. It only admonished him that he could not safely remain in the region of sunbeams; and he walked up and down the room furiously again. The sudden ceasing of his footsteps presently made her look up.
”What have you got there? ? Oh, Charlton, don't! ? please put that down! ? I didn't know I had left them there. They were a little wet, and I laid them on the chair to dry.”
”What do you call this?” said he, not minding her request.
”They are only my gardening gloves ? I thought I had put them away.”
”Gloves!” said he, pulling at them disdainfully ? ”why, here are two ? one within the other ? what's that for?”
”It's an old-fas.h.i.+oned way of mending matters ? two friends covering each other's deficiencies. The inner pair are too thin alone, and the outer ones have holes that are past cobbling.”
”Are we going to have any breakfast to-day?” said he, flinging the gloves down. ”You are very late!”
”No,” said Fleda, quietly ? ”it is not time for aunt Lucy to be down yet.”
”Don't you have breakfast before nine o'clock?”
”Yes ? by half-past eight generally.”
”Strange way of getting along on a farm! Well, I can't wait, ?
I promised Thorn I would meet him this morning ? Barby! I wish you would bring me my boots!” ?
Fleda made two springs, ? one to touch Charlton's mouth, the other to close the door of communication with the kitchen.
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