FullReads

“You’re too soft-hearted, that’s where it is, boy. You want your mettle dipping in cold water to temper it. You’re too soft-hearted—”

He laid his arm affectionately across the shoulders of the younger man. Joe seemed to yield a little towards him.

“When are you going to see her again?” Albert asked. For a long time there was no answer.

“When is it, boy?” persisted the softened voice of the corporal.

“To-morrow,” confessed Joe.

“Then let me go,” said Albert.”Let me go, will you?”

The morrow was Sunday, a sunny day, but a cold evening. The sky was grey, the new foliage very green, but the air was chill and depressing. Albert walked briskly down the white road towards Beeley. He crossed a larch plantation, and followed a narrow by-road, where blue speedwell flowers fell from the banks into the dust. He walked, swinging his cane, with mixed sensations. Then having gone a certain length, he turned and began to walk in the opposite direction.

So he saw a young woman approaching him. She was wearing a wide hat of grey straw, and a loose, swinging dress of nigger-grey velvet. She walked with slow inevitability. Albert faltered a little as he approached her. Then he saluted her, and his roguish, slightly withered skin flushed. She was staring straight into his face.

He fell in by her side, saying impudently:

“Not so nice for a walk as it was, is it?”

She only stared at him. He looked back at her.

“You’ve seen me before, you know,” he said, grinning slightly.”Perhaps you never noticed me. Oh, I’m quite nice looking, in a quiet way, you know. What—?”

But Miss Stokes did not speak: she only stared with large, icy blue eyes at him. He became self-conscious, lifted his chin, walked with his nose in the air, and whistled at random. So they went down the quiet, deserted lane. he was whistling the air:

“I’m Gilbert, the filbert, the colonel of the nuts.”

At lastshe found her voice:

“Where’s Joe?”

“He thought you’d like a change; they say variety’s the salt of life—that’s why I’m mostly pickle.”

“Where is he?”

“Am I my brother’s keeper? He’s gone his own ways.”

“Where?”

“Nay, how am I to know! Not so far but he’ll be back for supper.”

She stopped in the middle of the lane. He stopped, facing her.

“Where’s Joe?” she asked.

He struck a careless attitude, looked down the road, this way and that, lifted his eyebrows, pushed his khaki cap on one side and answered:

“He is not conducting the service to-night: he asked me if I’d officiate.”

“Why hasn’t he come?”

“Didn’t want to, I expect. Iwanted to.”

She stared him up and down, and he felt uncomfortable in his spine, but maintained his air of nonchalance. Then she turned slowly on her heel, and started to walk back. The corporal went at her side.

“You’re not going back, are you?” he pleaded.”Why, me and you, we should get on like a house on fire.”

She took no heed, but walked on. He went uncomfortably at her side, making his funny remarks from time to time. But she was as if stone deaf. He glanced at her, and to his dismay saw the tears running down her cheeks. He stopped suddenly, and pushed back his cap.

“I say, you know—” he began.

But she was walking on like an automaton, and he had to hurry after her.

She never spoke to him. At the gate of her farm she walked straight in, as if he were not there. He watched her disappear. Then he turned on his heel, cursing silently, puzzled, lifting off his cap to scratch his head.

That night, when they were in bed, he remarked:

“Say, Joe, boy, strikes me you’re well-off without Monkey-nuts. Gord love us, beans ain’t in it.”