“Do you farm much?” was her next inquiry, putting the unconscious Sawyer through his facings, as only a woman can.
“Not much,” replied our friend. “I let most of my land; but I keep enough in my own hands to supply the house. One must have a few cows, you know, for milk and fresh butter.”
It was evidently all right. A man who had land to let and land to keep, and a place of his own, was clearly none of your penniless interlopers such as visit the grass at intervals, like the locust, and eat it bare, and fly off and are seen no more. Here was a bee worth catching; with a hive, and honey, and flowers of its own—a good, honest humble-bee, with plenty of buzz, and no sting.
By this time the lights of Harborough were twinkling in the distance, and the Rev. Dove, whose horse had coughed more than once, thought it advisable to trot forward and get the carriage ready; whilst his daughter and Mr. Sawyer came on at a foot’s pace, the latter gallantly affirming that he would take the greatest possible care of his charge, and wishing, as soon as they were alone, either that somebody else would overtake them, and so break the _tête-à-tête_, or else that he could find something to say, else she must think him so confoundedly stupid. It was agreeable, too, when he got a little more used to it. The girl talked on in her gentle, pleasant voice, of the hounds, and the people, and the country. Her tones had caught the languor of slight fatigue, and were very soft and silvery to the ear. More than once he wished it was not too dark to see the long eyelashes resting on her cheek, those silky excrescences having made no slight impression on Mr. Sawyer. He felt quite sorry when the turnpike denoted their approach to the confines of the town at which their ride must cease. He could not conceive now how he could have been so out of spirits not an hour ago.
“When shall I see you again?” he ventured to ask as their horses’ hoofs clattered on the stony pavement, and he saw the lamps of the Reverend’s carriage glowing like the eyes of some monster ready to carry off his Andromeda. As he spoke he even ventured to place his hand on her horse’s neck; and this was a great stretch of gallantry for Mr. Sawyer.