Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/203

Rh group of orange and scarlet fungi in a fairy picture. Do you know, I haven’t been, no, not for quite a long time. Shall we call now?”

“The daylight will be gone if we do. It is half past five—more! I saw him—the son—the other morning.”

“Where?”

“He was carting manure—I made haste by.”

“Did he speak to you—did you look at him?”

“No, he said nothing. I glanced at him—he’s just the same, brick colour—stolid. Mind that stone—it rocks. I’m glad you’ve got strong boots on.”

“Seeing that I usually wear them——”

She stood poised a moment on a large stone, the fresh spring brook hastening towards her, deepening, sidling round her.

“You won’t call and see them, then?” she asked.

“No. I like to hear the brook tinkling, don’t you?” he replied.

“Ah, yes—it’s full of music.”

“Shall we go on?” he said, impatient but submissive.

“I’ll catch up in a minute,” said I.

I went in and found Emily putting some bread into the oven.

“Come out for a walk,” said I.

“Now? Let me tell mother—I was longing——”

She ran and put on her long grey coat and her red tam-o-shanter. As we went down the yard, George called to me.

“I’ll come back,” I shouted.

He came to the crew-yard gate to see us off. When we came out onto the path, we saw Lettie