e other away, and no
wonder he was afraid of her, after all the chicks she had eaten.

And so it goes on; and so the sun comes, stronger from his drink of dew;
and the cattle in the byres, and the horses from the stable, and the men
from cottage-door, each has had his rest and food, all smell alike of
hay and straw, and every one must hie to work, be it drag, or draw, or
delve.

So thought I on the Monday morning; while my own work lay before me,
and I was plotting how to quit it, void of harm to every one, and let my
love have work a little--hardest perhaps of all work, and yet as sure as
sunrise. I knew that my first day's task on the farm would be strictly
watched by every one, even by my gentle mother, to see what I had
learned in London. But could I let still another day pass, for Lorna to
think me faithless?

I felt much inclined to tell dear mother all about Lorna, and how I
loved her, yet had no hope of winning her. Often and often, I had
longed to do this, and have done with it. But the thought of my father's
terrible death, at the hands of the Doones, prevented me. And it seemed
to me foolish and mean to grieve mother, without any chance of my suit
ever speeding. If once Lorna loved me, my mother should know it; and it
would be the greatest happiness to me to have no concealment from her,
though at first she was sure to grieve terribly. But I saw no more
chance of Lorna loving me, than of the man in the moon coming down; or
rather of the moon coming down to the man, as related in old mythology.

Now the merriment of the small birds, and the clear voice of the waters,
and the lowing of cattle in meadows, and the view of no houses (except
just our own and a neighbour's), and the knowledge of everybody around,
their kindness of heart and simplicity, and love of their neighbour's
doings,--all these could not help or please me at all, and many of them
were much against me, in my secret depth of longing and dark tumult of
the mind. Many people may think me foolish, especially after coming from
London, where many nice maids looked at me (on account of my bulk and
stature), and I might have been fitted up with a sweetheart, in spite of
my west-country twang, and the smallness of my purse; if only I had
said the word. But nay; I have contempt for a man whose heart is like
a shirt-stud (such as I saw in London cards), fitted into one to-day,
sitting bravely on the breast; plucked out on the morrow morn, and the
plac