"En I'se gwine to stuff 'im full." Then she hurried away to her fire, and
Dan threw himself down upon the rug at the Major's feet.
"Yes, we may trust Betty for the sunshine," repeated the Major, as if
striving to recall his wandering thoughts. "She's my overseer now, you
know, and she actually looks after both places in less time than poor
Harris took to worry along with one. Why, there's not a better farmer in
the county."
"Oh, Major, don't," begged the girl, laughing and blushing beneath Dan's
eyes. "You mustn't believe him, Dan, he wears rose-coloured glasses when he
looks at me."
"Well, my sight is dim enough for everything else, my dear," confessed the
old man sadly. "That's why I have the lamps lighted before the sun goes
down--eh, Molly?"
Mrs. Lightfoot unwrapped her knitting and the ivory kneedles clicked in the
firelight.
"I like to keep the shadows away myself," she responded. "The twilight used
to be my favourite hour, but I dread it now, and so does Mr. Lightfoot."
"Well, the war's given us that in common," chuckled the Major, stretching
out his feet. "If I remember rightly you once complained that our tastes
were never alike, Molly." Then he glanced round with hospitable eyes. "Draw
up, my boy, draw up to the fire and tell your story," he added invitingly.
"By the time Champe comes home we'll have rich treats in store for the
summer evenings."
Betty was looking at him as he bent over the thin flames, and Dan saw her
warm gaze cloud suddenly with tears.
Pages:
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477