"I think perhaps it may be so.May I come in beside you in the field?Give me the pail.I'll milk the cow for you."She threw her head back and laughed like a girl from school,and he laughed too,and they shook hands.Then she sat near him while he milked,both keeping silence,save for the p-rring noise he made with his lips to the patient beast.Being through,she served him with a cupful of the fra-grant milk;but he bade her drink first,then drank himself,and then they laughed again,as if they both had found something new and good in life.
Then she,--"Come see how well my bees are doing."
And they went.She served him with the lucent syrup of the bees,perfumed with the mignonette,--such honey as there never was before.He sat on the broad doorstep,near the scarlet poppies,she on the grass,and then they talked --was it one golden hour --or two?Ah,well,'twas long enough for her to learn all of his simple life,long enough for her to know that he was victor at the races at the school,that he could play the pipe,like any shepherd of the ancient days,and when he went he asked her if he might return.
"Well,"laughed she,"sometimes I am lonely.Come see me --in a week."Yet he was there that day at twilight,and he brought his silver pipe,and piped to her under the stars,and she sung ballads to him,--songs of Strephon and times when the hills were young,and flocks were fairer than they ever be these days.
"To-morrow,and to-morrow,and to-morrow,"and still the intercourse,still her dark loveliness waxing,still the weaving of the mystic spell,still happiness as primi-tive and as sweet as ever Eden knew.
Then came a twilight when the sweet rain fell,and on the heavy air the perfumes of the fields floated.The woman stood by the window of the cot,looking out.Tall,graceful,full of that subtle power which drew his soul;clothed in white linen,fra-grant from her fields,with breath freighted with fresh milk,with eyes of flame,she was there to be adored.And he,being man of manliest type,forgot all that might have checked the words,and poured his soul out at her feet.She drew herself up like a queen,but only that she might look queenlier for his sake,and,bending,kissed his brow,and whispered back his vows.
And they were married.
The villagers pitied Hartington.
"She's more than a match for him in years --an'in some other ways,as like as not,"they said."Besides,she ain't much inclined to mention anything about her past.'Twon't bear the tellin'probably."As for the lovers,they laughed as they went about their honest tasks,or sat together arms encircling each at evening,now under the stars,and now before their fire of wood.They talked together of their farm,added a field for winter wheat,bought other cattle,and some horses,which they rode out over the rolling prairies side by side.He never stopped to chat about the town;she never ventured on the street without him by her side.Truth to tell,their neighbors envied them,marvelling how one could extract a heaven out of earth,and what such perfect joy could mean.
Yet,for all their prosperity,not one ad-dition did they make to that most simple home.It stood there,with its bare neces-sities,made beautiful only with their love.
