Sergeant!" she said,
shelling away rapidly.

The Sergeant stroked his new-shaven cheek with a pair of pincers he
chanced to be holding and stared down at her busy fingers; Mrs. Agatha
possessed very shapely hands, soft and dimpled--of which she was also
aware.

"But you look cool enough, mam," said he, ponderously, "and 'tis become
a matter of----"

"Duty, Sergeant?" she enquired.

"No, mam, a matter of wonder to me how you manage it?"

"Belike 'tis all because Nature made me so."

"Natur', mam--aye, 'tis a wonderful institootion----"

"For making me cool?"

"For making you at all, mam!" Having said which, he wheeled suddenly,
and took three quick strides away but, hearing her call, he turned and
took three slow ones back again. "Well, mam?" he enquired, staring at
the pincers.

"'Tis a hot day, Sergeant!" she laughed. At this he stood silent
awhile, lost in contemplation of her dexterous hands.

"Egad!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "'Tis a beautiful finger!"

"Is it, Sergeant?"

"For a trigger--aye mam. To shoot straight a man must have a true eye,
mam, but he must also have a shooting-hand, quick and light o' the
finger, d'ye see, not to spoil alignment. If you'd been a man, now,
you'd ha' handled a musket wi' the best if you'd only been a man----"

"But I'm--only a woman."

"True, mam, true--'tis Natur' again--fault o' circumstance----"

"And I don't want to be a man----"

"Certainly not, mam----"

"And wouldn't if I could!"

"Glad, o' that, mam."

"O, and prithee why?"

"Because as a woman you're--female, d'ye see--I mean as you're what
Natur' intended and such being so you're--naturally formed--I mean----"

"What d'you mean, pray?"

"A woman. And now, talking o' the Major----"

"But we're not!"

"Aye, but we are, mam, and so talking, the Major do surprise me--same
be a-changing, mam."

"Changing? How?"

"Well, this morning he went----"

"Into the orchard!" said Mrs. Agatha, nodding.

"Aye, he did. Since I finished that arbour he's took to it
amazing--sits there by the hour--mam!" Mrs. Agatha smiled at the peas.
"But this morning, mam, arter breakfast, he went and turned out all
his--clothes, mam. 'Sergeant,' says he, 'be these the best I've
got'--and him as never troubled over his clothes except to put 'em on
and forget 'em."

"But you hadn't built the arbour then!" said Mrs. Agatha softly.

"Arbour!" exclaimed the Sergeant, staring.

"You've known him a long time?"