What he did not suspect was that her
wedding garments had been thrust aside as of less importance than Mrs.
Mullen's basket of darning. She was just the girl for a farmer's wife,
he told himself as he watched her--plain and sensible, the kind that
would make a good mother and a good manager. And all the time a voice in
the back of his brain was repeating distinctly. "They say it will end in
a marriage--they say it will end in a marriage." But this voice seemed
to come from a distance, and to have no connection either with his
thought or with his life. It was independent of his will, and while it
was speaking, he went on calmly thinking of Judy's children and of how
well and properly she would bring them up.
"I went over again to look at the steer to-day," he said, after a
moment. "There's a Jersey cow, too, I think of buying."
She nodded, pausing in her work, yet keeping her gaze fixed on the point
of her needle. If he had looked at her darning, he would have seen that
it was woven of exquisite and elaborate stitches--such stitches as went
into ecclesiastical embroideries in the Middle Ages.
"They're the best kind for butter," she observed, and carefully ran her
needle crosswise in and out of the threads.
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