Page 198 - sons-and-lovers

served. He fingered a piece of apple-blossom that hung low
on a swinging bough.
‘I wouldn’t get the apple-blossom,’ said Edgar, the eldest
brother. ‘There’ll be no apples next year.’
‘I wasn’t going to get it,’ replied Paul, going away.
The boys felt hostile to him; they were more interested in
their own pursuits. He wandered back to the house to look
for his mother. As he went round the back, he saw Miriam
kneeling in front of the hen-coop, some maize in her hand,
biting her lip, and crouching in an intense attitude. The hen
was eyeing her wickedly. Very gingerly she put forward her
hand. The hen bobbed for her. She drew back quickly with a
cry, half of fear, half of chagrin.
‘It won’t hurt you,’ said Paul.
She flushed crimson and started up.
‘I only wanted to try,’ she said in a low voice.
‘See, it doesn’t hurt,’ he said, and, putting only two corns
in his 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?’

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