The Romantic Adventures of a MilkmaidHardy, Thomas
General
The Romantic Adventures of a Milkmaid
Hardy, Thomas
Women agricultural laborers -- Fiction
The public road home from this point was easy but devious. By far the
nearest way was by getting over a fence, and crossing the private grounds
of a picturesque old country-house, whose chimneys were just visible
through the trees. As the house had been shut up for many months, the
girl decided to take the straight cut. She pushed her way through the
laurel bushes, sheltering her bonnet with the shawl as an additional
safeguard, scrambled over an inner boundary, went along through more
shrubberies, and stood ready to emerge upon the open lawn. Before doing
so she looked around in the wary manner of a poacher. It was not the
first time that she had broken fence in her life; but somehow, and all of
a sudden, she had felt herself too near womanhood to indulge in such
practices with freedom. However, she moved forth, and the house-front
stared her in the face, at this higher level unobscured by fog.
It was a building of the medium size, and unpretending, the façade being
of stone; and of the Italian elevation made familiar by Inigo Jones and
his school. There was a doorway to the lawn, standing at the head of a
flight of steps. The shutters of the house were closed, and the blinds
of the bedrooms drawn down. Her perception of the fact that no crusty
caretaker could see her from the windows led her at once to slacken her
pace, and stroll through the flower-beds coolly. A house unblinded is a
possible spy, and must be treated accordingly; a house with the shutters
together is an insensate heap of stone and mortar, to be faced with
indifference.
On the other side of the house the greensward rose to an eminence,
whereon stood one of those curious summer shelters sometimes erected on
exposed points of view, called an all-the-year-round. In the present
case it consisted of four walls radiating from a centre like the arms of
a turnstile, with seats in each angle, so that whencesoever the wind
came, it was always possible to find a screened corner from which to
observe the landscape.
The milkmaid’s trackless course led her up the hill and past this
erection. At ease as to being watched and scolded as an intruder, her
mind flew to other matters; till, at the moment when she was not a yard
from the shelter, she heard a foot or feet scraping on the gravel behind
it. Some one was in the all-the-year-round, apparently occupying the
seat on the other side; as was proved when, on turning, she saw an elbow,
a man’s elbow, projecting over the edge.
Now the young woman did not much like the idea of going down the hill
under the eyes of this person, which she would have to do if she went on,
for as an intruder she was liable to be called back and questioned upon
her business there. Accordingly she crept softly up and sat in the seat
behind, intending to remain there until her companion should leave.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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