Page:The Blind Bow-Boy (IA blindbowboy00vanv).pdf/213

 the neat punnets of berries in the ice-chest, left them alone, after fortifying herself for three hours of creative gossip with a nip of perry, a beverage she was skilful in brewing. In spite of the apparent calm, Alice's words ate deeper and deeper into Harold's consciousness. He felt that she was right and, finally, one night, he summoned up enough courage to broach the subject again.

Alice dear, I've been worrying about what you said. . ..

She frowned, questioningly. What I said? she repeated, with an interrogative inflection.

About my going to work.

Dearest boy, I didn't mean to worry you. . . . Only—she was nervously switching her suede shoes with a willow-bough she had cut during her afternoon walk—, only, it has seemed to me at times that perhaps you are taking things too easily, too much as a matter of course; that was all. We can't stay here for ever, you know.

I understand. His tone was low and serious. I have been thinking about it and I know that you are right.

She brightened, and threw the switch into the fire.

I'm glad you agree with me, Harold. Now, what are you going to do?

That's just it, he groaned. I haven't the least idea!

Don't you think it's best for you to go in with