His eyes shot past her again. It was so obvious that the man had to see
his girl. For two hours though--not for four hours seven minutes.

"Did you have any lunch?"

"I don't hold with regular meals."

"Did you have a book?"

"I don't hold with books in the open. None of the older men read."

"Did you commune with yourself, or don't you hold with that?"

"Oh Lord, don't ask me!"

"You distress me. You rob the Pastoral of its lingering romance. Is
there no poetry and no thought in England? Is there no one, in all these
downs, who warbles with eager thought the Doric lay?"

"Chaps sing to themselves at times, if you mean that."

"I dream of Arcady. I open my eyes. Wiltshire. Of Amaryllis: Flea
Thompson's girl. Of the pensive shepherd, twitching his mantle blue: you
in an ulster. Aren't you sorry for me?"

"May I put in a pipe?"

"By all means put a pipe in. In return, tell me of what you were
thinking for the four hours and the seven minutes."

He laughed shyly. "You do ask a man such questions."

"Did you simply waste the time?"

"I suppose so."

"I thought that Colonel Robert Ingersoll says you must be strenuous."

At the sound of this name he whisked open a little cupboard, and
declaring, "I haven't a moment to spare," took out of it a pile of
"Clarion" and other reprints, adorned as to their covers with bald or
bearded apostles of humanity. Selecting a bald one, he began at once
to read, occasionally exclaiming, "That's got them," "That's knocked
Genesis," with similar ejaculations of an aspiring mind. She glanced
at the pile. Reran, minus the style. Darwin, minus the modesty. A
comic edition of the book of Job, by "Excelsior," Pittsburgh, Pa. "The
Beginning of Life," with diagrams. "Angel or Ape?" by Mrs. Julia P.
Chunk. She was amused, and wondered idly what was passing within his
narrow but not uninteresting brain. Did he suppose that he was going to
"find out"? She had tried once herself, but had since subsided into a
sprightly orthodoxy. Why didn't he read poetry, instead of wasting his
time between books like these and country like that?

The cloud parted, and the increase of light made her look up. Over the
valley she saw a grave sullen down, and on its flanks a little brown
smudge--her sheep, together with her shepherd, Fleance Thompson,
returned to his duties at last. A trickle of water came through the
arbour roof. She shrieked in dismay.

"That's all right," said her companion, moving