Innocent | Page 3

the straw hat, which was well pulled
down over his forehead, his filmy eyes gleamed with an alert
watchfulness. He seemed to be counting every morsel of hay that was
being added to the load and pricing it in his mind, but there was no
actual expression of either pleasure or interest on his features. As the
girl entered the field, and her gown made a gleam of white on the grass,
he turned his head and looked at her, puffing hard at his pipe and
watching her approach only a little less narrowly than he watched the
piling up of the hay. When she drew sufficiently near him he spoke.
"Coming to ride home on last load?"
She hesitated.
"I don't know. I'm not sure," she answered.
"It'll please Robin if you do," he said.
A little smile trembled on her lips. She bent her head over the dove she
held against her bosom.
"Why should I please Robin?" she asked.
His dull eyes sparkled with a gleam of anger.
"Please Robin, please ME," he said, sharply--"Please yourself, please
nobody."
"I do my best to please YOU, Dad!" she said, gently, yet with
emphasis.
He was silent, sucking at his pipe-stem. Just then a whistle struck the
air like the near note of a thrush. It came from the man on top of the
haywaggon. He had paused in his labour, and his face was turned
towards the old man and the girl. It was a handsome face, lighted by a
smile which seemed to have caught a reflex of the sun.

"All ready, Uncle!" he shouted--"Ready and waiting!"
The old man drew his pipe from his mouth.
"There you are!" he said, addressing the girl in a softer tone,-- "He's
wanting you."
She moved away at once. As she went, the men who were raking in the
last sweepings of the hay stood aside for her to pass. One of them put a
ladder against the wheel of the waggon.
"Going up, miss?" he asked, with a cheerful grin.
She smiled a response, but said nothing.
The young fellow on top of the load looked down. His blue eyes
sparkled merrily as he saw her.
"Are you coming?" he called.
She glanced up.
"If you like," she answered.
"If I like!" he echoed, half-mockingly, half-tenderly; "You know I like!
Why, you've got that wretched bird with you!"
"He's not a wretched bird," she said,--"He's a darling!"
"Well, you can't climb up here hugging him like that! Let him go, --and
then I'll help you."
For all answer she ascended the ladder lightly without assistance, still
holding the dove, and in another minute was seated beside him.
"There!" she said, as she settled herself comfortably down in the soft,
sweet-smelling hay. "Now you've got your wish, and I hope Dad is
happy."

"Did he tell you to come, or did you come of your own accord?" asked
the young man, with a touch of curiosity.
"He told me, of course," she answered; "I should never have come of
my own accord."
He bit his lip vexedly. Turning away from her he called to the
haymakers:
"That'll do, boys! Fetch Roger, and haul in!"
The sun was nearing the western horizon and a deep apricot glow
warmed the mown field and the undulating foliage in the far distance.
The men began to scatter here and there, putting aside their long
wooden rakes, and two of them went off to bring Roger, the cart-horse,
from his shed.
"Uncle Hugo!"
The old man, who still sat impassively on the beer-barrel, looked up.
"Ay! What is it?"
"Are you coming along with us?"
Uncle Hugo shook his head despondently.
"Why not? It's the last load this year!"
"Ay!" He lifted his straw hat and waved it in a kind of farewell salute
towards the waggon, repeating mechanically: "The last load! The very
last!"
Then there came a cessation of movement everywhere for the moment.
It was a kind of breathing pause in Nature's everlasting chorus,-- a
sudden rest, as it seemed, in the very spaces of the air. The young man
threw himself down on the hay-load so that he faced the girl, who sat
quiet, caressing the dove she held. He was undeniably good-looking,
with an open nobility of feature which is uncommon enough among

well-born and carefully-nurtured specimens of the human race, and is
perhaps still more rarely to be found among those whose lot in life is
one of continuous hard manual labour. Just now he looked singularly
attractive, the more so, perhaps, because he was unconscious of it. He
stretched out one hand towards the girl and touched the hem of her
white frock.
"Are you feeling kind?"
Her eyes lightened with a gleam of merriment.
"I am always kind."
"Not to