Arthur strolled along
carelessly, with a book under his arm, but not looking on the ground
as meditative men are apt to do; his eyes WOULD fix themselves on the
distant bend in the road round which a little figure must surely appear
before long. Ah! There she comes. First a bright patch of colour, like
a tropic bird among the boughs; then a tripping figure, with a round
hat on, and a small basket under her arm; then a deep-blushing, almost
frightened, but bright-smiling girl, making her curtsy with a fluttered
yet happy glance, as Arthur came up to her. If Arthur had had time
to think at all, he would have thought it strange that he should feel
fluttered too, be conscious of blushing too--in fact, look and feel as
foolish as if he had been taken by surprise instead of meeting just what
he expected. Poor things! It was a pity they were not in that golden age
of childhood when they would have stood face to face, eyeing each other
with timid liking, then given each other a little butterfly kiss,
and toddled off to play together. Arthur would have gone home to his
silk-curtained cot, and Hetty to her home-spun pillow, and both would
have slept without dreams, and to-morrow would have been a life hardly
conscious of a yesterday.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218