Page 194 - sons-and-lovers

climbed cautiously.
‘What a way to climb!’ he exclaimed scornfully, when she
was safely to earth again.
‘Hateful stiles!’ she cried.
‘Duffer of a little woman,’ he replied, ‘who can’t get over
‘em.’
In front, along the edge of the wood, was a cluster of low
red farm buildings. The two hastened forward. Flush with
the wood was the apple orchard, where blossom was falling
on the grindstone. The pond was deep under a hedge and
overhanging oak trees. Some cows stood in the shade. The
farm and buildings, three sides of a quadrangle, embraced
the sunshine towards the wood. It was very still.
Mother and son went into the small railed garden, where
was a scent of red gillivers. By the open door were some
floury loaves, put out to cool. A hen was just coming to
peck them. Then, in the doorway suddenly appeared a girl
in a dirty apron. She was about fourteen years old, had a
rosy dark face, a bunch of short black curls, very fine and
free, and dark eyes; shy, questioning, a little resentful of the
strangers, she disappeared. In a minute another figure ap-
peared, a small, frail woman, rosy, with great dark brown
eyes.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, smiling with a little glow, ‘you’ve
come, then. I AM glad to see you.’ Her voice was intimate
and rather sad.
The two women shook hands.
‘Now are you sure we’re not a bother to you?’ said Mrs.
Morel. ‘I know what a farming life is.’

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