Page:The further side of silence (IA furthersideofsil00clifiala).pdf/219

 fickle heart of a man unless there were baby fin- gers to aid and strengthen her own desperate grasp.

Two or three seasons came and went. Annually the rich yellow crop was reaped laboriously, ear by car, and the good grain was garnered. Later the ploughs were sel going anew across the dry meadows, and in the rice swamps the buffaloes were made to trample and knead the soft earth into a quagmire. Then sowing had been taken in hand, and while the progress of the crop was closely marked and end- lessly discussed, the villagers had kept all free from weeds, working in rotation upon one another's land in chattering groups until the time for reaping once more came round. Mamat and Minah had taken their share of the toil, and had watched nature giving oirth to her myriad offspring with unfailing regu- larity, but still no small feet pattered over the lath flooring of their hut, and no child's voice made music in their compound. Mamat seemed to have become less lighthearted than of old, and he frequently re- turned from the fields complaining of fever, and lay down to rest tired and depressed. Mînah tended him carefully, but she watched him with misery in her heart, for she told herself that the day was drawing near that would see a co-wife, who should bear sons to her husband, come to rob her of his love. There- fore, at times, when Mamat was absent, she would weep furtively as she sat alone among the cooking- pots in the empty hut, and many were the vows of rich offerings to be devoted to the shrines of the local .