They gathered daisies and laughed and sang and chattered till the sun
went low. Then they gathered under a big tree and spread their lunch on
the ground. And after they had eaten, the conversation lay between the
sallow-faced woman and one of the older men, a clever conversation
filled with quaint observations and curious sidelights. The boys sat all
about the woman questioning her eagerly, but behind in the shadow of the
drooping branches sat the girls, silent, unobtrusive, holding each
other's hands. Now and then the talker cast a furtive glance from
Bernard's rather withdrawn face to the faces in the shadow, and the
enigmatic smile hovered and flitted over her lips.
* * * * *
Three years later on the anniversary of that summer day the woman sat at
an upstairs window in the house on the little farm that was a reality
now, the little co-operative farm where ten free men and women labored
and loved. She had come with the others and done her best, but the cost
of it, hard labor and merciless pain, was stamped on the face that
looked from the window. She was watching Bernard's figure as it came
swinging through the orchard. Presently he came in and up the stairs.
His feet went past her door, then turned back irresolutely, and a low
knock followed. Her eyebrows bent together almost sternly as she
answered, "Come in."
He entered with a smile: "Can I do anything for you this morning?"
"No," she said quietly, "you know I like my own cranky ways. I--I'd
rather do things myself." He nodded: "I know. I always get the same
answer. Shall you go to the picnic? You surely will keep our
foundation-day picnic?"
"Perhaps--later. And perhaps not." There was a curious tone of
repression in the words.
"Well," he answered good-naturedly, "if you won't let me do anything for
you, I'll have to find some one who will. Is Bella ready to go?"
"This half hour. Bella. Here is Bernard." And Bella came in. Bella, the
timid girl with the brilliant complexion and gazelle soft eyes, Bella
radiant in her youth and feminine daintiness, more lovely than she had
been three years before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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