Changing Winds. St. John G. Ervine
I think so!"
"That's quare!" She walked on for a few yards without speaking, and her eyes were fixed steadily on the starry fields. "It's funny," she said, "to think mebbe there's people up there lookin' at us an' them mebbe thinkin' about this place what we're thinkin' of them. Wouldn't you love to be able to fly up to one of them an' just see if it's true?..."
He laughed at her and she laughed in response. "I'm talkin' blether," she said, stumbling over a stone in the road.
"Mind!" he warned her, putting out his hand to steady her.
"I was nearly down that time," she said. "These roads is awful in the dark ... you can't see where you're goin' or what's in the way!"
"No," he replied.
Her arms were crooked because she was holding her skirts about her ankles, and as she stumbled against him a second time, he put out his hand and caught hold of her arm, and this time he did not withdraw it. He slipped his arm inside hers and drew her close to him, and so they walked on in the starlight up the rough road that led to Matthew Hamilton's farm.
"It's quaren late," she said, moving nearer to him.
"Yes," he answered.
There was a rustle in the trees as the night wind blew through the branches, and they could hear the silken murmur of the corn as it bent before the breeze. Now and then there was a flutter of wings in a hedge as they passed by, and the low murmurs of cattle and sheep came from the fields.
"I wish it were next Thursday," he said.
"So do I," she replied.
"I wish we could have two dancing-classes in the week instead of one!"
"So do I," she said.
"But we can't manage that," he continued. "You see we have two nights for the Language class!..."
"You could have one night for the Language class," she said, "and two nights for dancing!"
"I don't think Marsh would like that," he answered.
They walked on for a while, thinking of what Marsh would say, and then she broke the silence.
"I don't see the good of them oul' language classes," she said.
"Don't you?"
"No. I'd rather be dancin' any day!..."
9
He left her at the gate that led into the farmyard.
"Good-night," he said, holding out his hand to her.
"Good-night!" she replied.
But still he did not move away nor did she open the gate and pass into the yard.
"I shall look forward to Thursday," he said.
"So shall I!"
"Good-night!"
"Good-night!"
He still held her hand in his and as she made a movement to draw it away, he suddenly pulled her to him and put his arms about her and kissed her.
"Sheila!" he said.
"Let me go!" she whispered.
She drew away from him, and stood looking at him for a few moments. Then she pushed the gate open and walked into the yard.
"Good-night!" she said.
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER
1
His habit had been to work in the morning with Marsh, and then, after light luncheon, they walked through the country during the afternoon, climbing hills or tramping heavily through the fields or, going off on bicycles, to bathe at Cushendall. Sometimes, Mr. Quinn accompanied them on these expeditions, and then they had fierce arguments about Ireland, but more often Marsh and Henry went off together, leaving Mr. Quinn behind to ponder over some problem of agriculture or to wrangle with William Henry Matier on what was and what was not a fair day's work. But now, Henry began to scheme to be alone. On the day after he had taken Sheila Morgan to her uncle's farm, he had been so restless and inattentive during his morning's work that Marsh had asked him if he were ill.
"I'm rather headachy," he had answered, and had gladly accepted the offer to quit work for the day.
"Would you like to go out for a walk?" Marsh had asked. "The fresh air!..."
And Henry had replied, "No, thanks! I think I'll just go up to my room!"
He had gone to his room and then, listening until he had heard Marsh go out, he had descended the stairs and, almost on tiptoe, had gone out of the house by a side-door, and, slipping through the paddock as if he were anxious not to be seen, had run swiftly through the meadows and cornfields until he reached the road that led to Hamilton's farm. He had not decided what he was going to do when he had reached the farm. Sheila would probably be busy about the house or she might have work to do in the farmyard. Now that her uncle was ill, some of his labour would have to be done by others. But he would be less in the way, he thought, in the morning than he would be in the evening when the cows were being milked ... though he might offer to help her to strain the milk and churn it, if she did that, and he could scald the milk-pans and ... do lots of things! The evening, however, was still a long way off, but the morning was ... now! And he wished very much to be with Sheila ... now ... this moment!
He saw her before she saw him. She had her back to him, and she was bending over her uncle who was sitting at the door of the farmhouse, with a rug wrapped round his legs. Henry, suddenly shy, stood still in the "loanie," looking at her and trying to think of something to say to her which would make his appearance there at that hour natural; but before he had thought of something that was suitable, she turned and saw him, and so he went forward, tongue-tied and awkward.
"Here's Mr. Quinn!" she said to her uncle ... she had never known him as Master Henry, and she had not yet learned to call him by his Christian name alone.
The farmer looked up. "You mane Mr. Henry," he said, and Henry, listening to him, felt that at last he was near manhood, for people were shedding the "Master."
"Good-morning, Hamilton!" he said, holding out his hand to the farmer. "How're you to-day?"
"Middlin', sir ... only middlin'. This is the first I've been out of the house this long while, but the day's that warm, I just thought I'd like to get a heat of the sun, bad or no bad. It's a terrible thing to be helpless like this ... not able to do a han's-turn for yourself!..."
"Ah, quit, Uncle Matt!" Sheila interjected. "Sure, you'll soon be all right an' runnin' about like a two-year oul'!" She turned to Henry. "He's an awful man for wantin' to be doin' things, an' it's sore work tryin' to get him to sit still the way the doctor says he's to sit. Always wantin' to be up an' doin' somethin'! Aren't you, Uncle Matt?"
"Ay, daughter, I am. I was always the lad for work!..."
"You're a terrible oul' provoker, so you are. You're just jealous, that's it, an' you're heart-feard we'll mebbe all learn how to look after the farm better nor you can!"
The old man smiled and took hold of her hand and fondled it. "You're the right wee girl," he said affectionately. "Always doin' your best to keep a man's heart up!"
"Indeed, then," she said briskly, "you gimme enough to do to keep your heart up. You're worse nor a cradleful of childher!... Here, let me wrap this shawl about your shoulders! Aren't you the oul' footer to be lettin' it slip down like that?... There now!"
He lay back in his chair while she folded the shawl