palm, he let the hen peck, peck, peck at his bare hand. "It only makes
you laugh," he said.
She put her hand forward and dragged it away, tried again, and started
back with a cry. He frowned.
"Why, I'd let her take corn from my face," said Paul, "only she bumps a
bit. She's ever so neat. If she wasn't, look how much ground she'd peck
up every day."
He waited grimly, and watched. At last Miriam let the bird peck from
her hand. She gave a little cry--fear, and pain because of fear--rather
pathetic. But she had done it, and she did it again.
"There, you see," said the boy. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"
She looked at him with dilated dark eyes.
"No," she laughed, trembling.
Then she rose and went indoors. She seemed to be in some way resentful
of the boy.
"He thinks I'm only a common girl," she thought, and she wanted to prove
she was a grand person like the "Lady of the Lake".
Paul found his mother ready to go home. She smiled on her son. He took
the great bunch of flowers. Mr. and Mrs. Leivers walked down the fields
with them. The hills were golden with evening; deep in the woods showed
the darkening purple of bluebells. It was everywhere perfectly stiff,
save for the rustling of leaves and birds.
"But it is a beautiful place," said Mrs. Morel.
"Yes," answered Mr. Leivers; "it's a nice little place, if only it
weren't for the rabbits. The pasture's bitten down to nothing. I dunno
if ever I s'll get the rent off it."
He clapped his hands, and the field broke into motion near the woods,
brown rabbits hopping everywhere.
"Would you believe it!" exclaimed Mrs. Morel.
She and Paul went on alone together.
"Wasn't it lovely, mother?" he said quietly.
A thin moon was coming out. His heart was full of happiness till it
hurt. His mother had to chatter, because she, too, wanted to cry with
happiness.
"Now WOULDN'T I help that man!" she said. "WOULDN'T I see to the fowls
and the young stock! And I'D learn to milk, and I'D talk with him, and
I'D plan with him. My word, if I were his wife, the farm would be run,
I know! But there, she hasn't the strength--she simply hasn't the
strength. She ought never to have been burdened like it, you know. I'm
sorry for her, and I'm sorry for him too. My word, if I'D had him, I
shouldn't have thought him a bad husband! Not that she does either; and
she's very lovable."
William came home again with his sweetheart at the Whitsuntide. He had
one week of his holidays then. It was beautiful weather. As a rule,
William and Lily and Paul went out in the morning together for a walk.
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