"You are back from town early to-day, Mr. Joe," cried Betsey, holding out her hand with demonstrative cordiality. She had felt snubbed before the eyes of all St. Euphrase by her "cousin Gerald," as she called him when out of hearing, not having noticed her, and she owed it to herself, she fancied, to show that she did not care, and had plenty of other young men to speak to.
"Yes," said Joe with a sigh, clasping the proffered hand as a drowning man lays hold on a straw. Anything is good to catch at when one is sinking.
"And you look tired," she added with plaintive sympathy.
"Worried, any way. Those town folks, you know. Miss Betsey, ain't like us here in the country."
"Ah! worried. I know the feeling so well; when one does not quite know, perhaps, what it is one wants, and yet is quite sure that what they would have is what we don't want. I know it, and town folks are so selfish."
It is marvellous how some big broad-shouldered fellow, with a fist of his own and the will to use it, who ruffles it among his peers and holds unabated his manly front before odds, opposition, and misfortune, will wilt and weaken into drivelling self-pity for a few soft words, spoken, mayhap, in doubtful sincerity, by some insignificant dot of a woman, and one for whom he feels no more than friendship. Is it a survival of the habit in childhood of bringing his pains and troubles to his mother's lap? Or is it that man needs woman to complete his being?--drawing courage from her sympathy in his hour of darkness, even as she needs the protection of his strength in hers? It is a fact, at least, that the bands which knit him in his pride, soften like wax before her, and bully Bottom lays his honest ass's head contentedly upon any Titania's knee, smiling in fatuous content as she twiddles his long ears between her dainty fingers.
"Town folks are very selfish," said Betsey again.
"If they were honest one would not mind that. We country folk do the best we can for ourselves, and would have both hands under, too, every time, if only we could get it."
"You are generous, Mr. Joe. I always said it of you."
"I try to be fair," he answered, looking pleased.
"And some people don't know what fairness means," rejoined Betsey, with fervour, and a glance of appreciation into his face. She did not know what she meant or was speaking about, but her companion did, and approved her sentiments, which did just as well. She had begun the conversation merely with a general desire to be pleasant, but now she was growing interested in his evident depression, and curious to learn its cause. He was not in love, that seemed certain--love always struck our tender Betsey as the trouble most natural to a fine young man. He would not be so ready, surely, to indulge his "dumps," for some other girl in _her_ company; and if it were herself, there was no ground for dumps at all; he might have her for the asking, she half suspected, though she would not demean herself in her own eyes by considering the point until the gentleman brought it properly under her notice. Wherefore Miss Betsey went a fishing, and baiting her hook with a gentle enthusiasm, she spoke again: