|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 55
Curiously Carley watched him, and did not allow her mind to become
concerned with a somewhat painful swell of her heart. What a stride he had!
How vigorous he looked, and earnest! He was as intent upon this job as if
he had been a rustic. He might have been failing to do it well, but he most
certainly was doing it conscientiously. Once he had said to her that a man
should never be judged by the result of his labors, but by the nature of
his effort. A man might strive with all his heart and strength, yet fail.
Carley watched him striding along and bending down, absorbed in his task,
unmindful of the glaring hot sun, and somehow to her singularly detached
from the life wherein he had once moved and to which she yearned to take
him back. Suddenly an unaccountable flashing query assailed her conscience:
How dare she want to take him back? She seemed as shocked as if some
stranger had accosted her. What was this dimming of her eye, this inward
tremulousness; this dammed tide beating at an unknown and riveted gate of
her intelligence? She felt more then than she dared to face. She struggled
against something in herself. The old habit of mind instinctively resisted
the new, the strange. But she did not come off wholly victorious. The
Carley Burch whom she recognized as of old, passionately hated this life
and work of Glenn Kilbourne's, but the rebel self, an unaccountable and
defiant Carley, loved him all the better for them.
Carley drew a long deep breath before she called Glenn. This meeting would
be momentous and she felt no absolute surety of herself.
Manifestly he was surprised to hear her call, and, dropping his sack and
implement, he hurried across the tilled ground, sending up puffs of dust.
He vaulted the rude fence of poles, and upon sight of her called out
lustily. How big and virile he looked! Yet he was gaunt and strained. It
struck Carley that he had not looked so upon her arrival at Oak Creek. Had
she worried him? The query gave her a pang.
"Sir Tiller of the Fields," said Carley, gayly, "see, your dinner! I
brought it and I am going to share it."
"You old darling!" he replied, and gave her an embrace that left her cheek
moist with the sweat of his. He smelled of dust and earth and his body was
hot. "I wish to God it could be true for always!"
His loving, bearish onslaught and his words quite silenced Carley. How at
critical moments he always said the thing that hurt her or inhibited her!
She essayed a smile as she drew back from him.
"It's sure good of you," he said, taking the basket. "I was thinking I'd be
through work sooner today, and was sorry I had not made a date with you.
Come, we'll find a place to sit."
Whereupon he led her back under the trees to a half-sunny, half-shady bench
of rock overhanging the stream. Great pines overshadowed a still, eddying
pool. A number of brown butterflies hovered over the water, and small trout
floated like spotted feathers just under the surface. Drowsy summer
enfolded the sylvan scene.
Glenn knelt at the edge of the brook, and, plunging his hands in, he
splashed like a huge dog and bathed his hot face and head, and then turned
to Carley with gay words and laughter, while he wiped himself dry with a
large red scarf. Carley was not proof against the virility of him then, and
at the moment, no matter what it was that had made him the man he looked,
she loved it.
"I'll sit in the sun," he said, designating a place. "When you're hot you
mustn't rest in the shade, unless you've coat or sweater. But you sit here
in the shade."
"Glenn, that'll put us too far apart," complained Carley. "I'll sit in the
sun with you."
The delightful simplicity and happiness of the ensuing hour was something
Carley believed she would never forget.
"There! we've licked the platter clean," she said. "What starved bears we
were! . . . . I wonder if I shall enjoy eating--when I get home. I used to
be so finnicky and picky."
"Carley, don't talk about home," said Glenn, appealingly.
"You dear old farmer, I'd love to stay here and just dream--forever,"
replied Carley, earnestly. "But I came on purpose to talk seriously."
"Oh, you did! About what?" he returned, with some quick, indefinable change
of tone and expression.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|