“How do you bind the corn?” she asked. He took some long straws, cleaned them, and showed her the way to hold them. Instead of attending, she looked at his hands, big, hard, inflamed by the snaith of the scythe. “I don’t think I could do it,” she said. “No,” he replied quietly, and watched Leslie mowing. The latter who was wonderfully ready at everything, was doing fairly well, but he had not the invincible sweep of the other, nor did he make the same crisp crunching music. “I bet he’ll sweat,” said George. “Don’t you?” she replied. “A bit—but I’m not dressed up.” “Do you know,” she said suddenly, “your arms tempt me to touch them. They are such a fine brown colour, and they look so hard.” He held out one arm to her. She hesitated, then she swiftly put her finger tips on the smooth brown muscle, and drew them along. Quickly she hid her hand into the folds of her skirt, blushing. He laughed a low, quiet laugh, at once pleasant and startling to hear. “I wish I could work here,” she said, looking away at the standing corn, and the dim blue woods. He followed her look, and laughed quietly, with indulgent resignation. “I do!” she said emphatically. “You feel so fine,” he said, pushing his hand through his open shirt front, and gently rubbing the muscles of his side. “It’s a pleasure to work or to stand still. It’s a pleasure to yourself—your own physique.” She looked at him, full at his physical beauty, as if he were some great firm bud of life. Leslie came up, wiping his brow. “Jove,” said he, “I do perspire.” George picked up his coat and helped him into it; saying: “You may take a chill.” “It’s a jolly nice form of exercise,” said he. George, who had been feeling one finger tip, now took out his pen-knife and proceeded to dig a thorn from his hand. “What a hide you must have,” said Leslie. Lettie said nothing, but she recoiled slightly. The father, glad of an excuse to straighten his back and to chat, came to us. “You’d soon had enough,” he said, laughing to Leslie. George startled us with a sudden, “Holloa.” We turned, and saw a rabbit, which had burst from the corn, go coursing through the hedge, dodging and bounding the sheaves. The standing corn was a patch along the hill-side some fifty paces in length, and ten or so in width. “I didn’t think there’d have been any in,” said the father, picking up a short rake, and going to the low wall of the corn. We all followed. “Watch!” said the father, “if you see the heads of the corn shake!” We prowled round the patch of corn. “Hold! Look out!” shouted the father excitedly, and immediately after a rabbit broke from the cover.