Furrows of mown
grass lay like golden green wind-drifts behind the swinging passage of
the scythe, and the face of the old negro showed scarred and wistful
under the dappled sunshine. June beetles, coloured like emeralds, spun
loudly through the stillness, which had in it an almost human quality of
hushed and expectant waiting. All Nature seemed to be breathing softly,
lest she should awake from her illusion and find the world dissolved
into space.
"I wonder if it is really the miller?" said Gay suddenly. "The truth is
her life seems empty of something."
"I beg your pardon?" returned Kesiah, startled, for she had been
thinking not of Molly's life, but of her own. It was not much of a life,
to be sure, but it was all she had, so she felt it was only natural that
she should think about it.
"I said I wondered if it were the miller," repeated Gay a little
impatiently. Like his mother he found Kesiah's attacks of inattention
very trying--and if she were to get deaf the only position she had ever
filled with credit would be necessarily closed to her. What on earth did
she have to occupy her anyway if not other people's affairs?
"I can hardly believe that," she answered.
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