“I want to be where those things are done and talked about,” said Thomasine; “what do I care about how the corn looks, and whether the sheep have the foot-rot, and what per stone is the price of bullocks? Now—you need not sit on my feet.” “I will choose a higher step,” said the lad; then he stepped past her, and seated himself on that above her. “Upon my word, Tamsin,” he said, “you have wonderful hair. It is like mother’s copper kettle new scoured, and spun into spiders’ threads. Some red hair,” continued he, “is coarse as wire, but this,” he put his fingers through the splendid waves, “but this——” “Is not for you to meddle with,” said Thomasine. “Shall I make my fortune with it in the world?” She stood up, and stepped past him, and seated herself on the step immediately above that he occupied. “In the world!” repeated Archelaus. “What world—that where murders and burglaries and divorces are the great subject of talk?” “Aye—in the world where something is doing, where there is life, not in the world of mangold-wurzel.” “I do not know, Tamsin,” said the lad dispiritedly. “I hope not.” “Why not? I am not happy here. I want to be where something is stirring. Why,” said Thomasine with a flash of anger in her cheek and eye and the tone of her voice—“Why am I to be a poor farm girl, and Miss Arminell Inglett to have all she wishes? She to be wealthy, and I to have nothing? She to be happy, and I wretched? I suppose I am good-looking, eh, Arkie?” “Of course you are,” said he, “but, Tamsin, I cannot talk to you as you are behind me.” “I do not care to see your face,” said the girl, “the back of your collar and coat are enough for me. Is that your Sunday wide-awake?” “Yes—what have you against it?” “Only that there is a hole in it, there”—she thrust her finger through the gap in the crown, and touched his scalp. “I know there is, Tamsin; a coal bounced on to it from the fire.” “Without bringing light to your brain.” “I shall change my place,” said Archelaus; he stood up, stepped past the girl, and seated himself above her. “Now,” said he, “I can look down on, and seek for blemishes in your head.” “You will find none there—eh! Arkie? Shall I make my fortune with my hair? Coin it into gold and wear purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day? That is what I want and will have, and I don’t care how I get it; so long as I get it. My head and hair are not for you.” Then she stood up, strode past Archelaus, and planted herself on the step higher than that he occupied. “This is a queer keeping company, tandem fashion, and changing the leader,” laughed Archelaus. “We are not keeping company,” answered Thomasine. “Tandem is best as we are, single best of all.” “I don’t see why we should not keep company,” said the lad. “I do,” answered Thomasine sharply, “have I not made it plain to you that I didn’t want a life of drudgery, and that I choose to have a life in which I may amuse myself?”