"The next time I'll take better aim!" called Archie, turning away. "I'll
shoot as straight as the man who gave your uncle his deserts down at
Poplar Spring!"
Whistling to his dogs, he ran on for a short distance; then vaulting the
rail fence he disappeared into the tangle of willows beside the stream
which flowed down from the mill.
While he watched him the anger in Gay's face faded slowly into disgust.
"Now I've stirred up a hornet's nest," he thought, annoyed by his
impetuosity. "Who, I wonder, was the fellow, and what a fool--what a
tremendous fool I have been!"
With his love of ease, of comfort, of popularity, the situation appeared
to him to be almost intolerable. The whole swarm would be at his head
now, he supposed; for instead of silencing the angry buzzing around his
uncle's memory, he had probably raised a tumult which would deafen his
own ears before it was over. Here, as in other hours and scenes, his
resolve had acted less as a restraint than as a spur which had impelled
him to the opposite extreme of conduct.
Still rebuking his impulsiveness, he shouldered his gun again, and
followed slowly in the direction Archie had taken. The half bared
willows by the brook distilled sparkling drops as the small red sun rose
higher over the meadows, and it was against the shimmering background of
foliage, that the figure of Blossom Revercomb appeared suddenly out of
the mist. Her scant skirts were lifted from the cobwebs on the grass,
and her mouth was parted while she called softly after a cow that had
strayed down to the willows.
"You, sir!" she exclaimed, and blushed enchantingly under the pearly dew
that covered her face. "One of our cows broke pasture in the night and
we think she must have crossed the creek and got over on your side of
the meadow. She's a wonderful jumper. We'll have to be hobbling her
soon, I reckon."
"Do you milk?" he asked, charmed by the mental picture of so noble a
dairymaid.
"Except when grandma is well enough. You can't leave it to the darkies
because they are such terrible slatterns. Put a cow in their hands and
she's sure to go dry before three months are over."
She looked up at him, while the little brown mole played hide and seek
with a dimple.
"Have you ever been told that you are beautiful, Miss Keren-happuch?" he
inquired with a laugh.
Her pale eyes, like frosted periwinkles, dropped softly beneath his
gaze.
"How can you think so, sir, when you have seen so many city ladies?"
"I've seen many, but not one so lovely as you are this morning with the
frost on your cheeks."
"I'm not dressed. I just slip on any old thing to go milking."
"It's not the dress, that doesn't matter--though I can imagine you in
trailing purple velvet with a trimming of sable."
An illumination shone in her face, as if her soul had suddenly
blossomed.
"Purple velvet, and what else did you say, sir?" she questioned.
"Sable--fur, you know, the richest, softest, queenliest fur there is."