CHAPTER VI

　　Paul hurried off to the station jubilant. Down Derby Roadwas a cherry-tree that glistened. The old brick wall by theStatutes ground burned scarlet, spring was a very flame of green. And the steep swoop of highroad lay, in its cool morning dust,splendid with patterns of sunshine and shadow, perfectly still. The trees sloped their great green shoulders proudly; and insidethe warehouse all the morning, the boy hada vision of spring outside.

　　When he came home at dinner-time his mother was rather excited.

　　"Are we going?" he asked.

　　"When I'm ready," she replied.

　　Presently he got up.

　　"Go and get dressed while I wash up," he said.

　　She did so. He washed the pots, straightened, and then tookher boots. They were quite clean. Mrs. Morel was one of those naturallyexquisite people who can walk in mud without dirtying their shoes. But Paul had to clean them for her. They were kid boots at eightshillings a pair. He, however, thought them the most dainty bootsin the world, and he cleaned them with as much reverence as if theyhad been flowers.

　　Suddenly she appeared in the inner doorway rather shyly. She had got a new cotton blouse on. Paul jumped up and went forward.

　　"Oh, my stars!" he exclaimed. "What a bobby-dazzler!"

　　She sniffed in a little haughty way, and put her head up.

　　"It's not a bobby-dazzler at all!" she replied. "It's very quiet."

　　She walked forward, whilst he hovered round her.

　　"Well," she asked, quite shy, but pretending to be highand mighty, "do you like it?"

　　"Awfully! You ARE a fine little woman to go jaunting out with!"

　　He went and surveyed her from the back.

　　"Well," he said, "if I was walking down the street behind you,I should say: 'Doesn't THAT little person fancy herself!"'

　　"Well, she doesn't," replied Mrs. Morel. "She's not sure itsuits her."

　　"Oh no! she wants to be in dirty black, looking as if she waswrapped in burnt paper. It DOES suit you, and I say you look nice."

　　She sniffed in her little way, pleased, but pretendingto know better.

　　"Well," she said, "it's cost me just three shillings. You couldn't have got it ready-made for that price, could you?"

　　"I should think you couldn't," he replied.

　　"And, you know, it's good stuff."

　　"Awfully pretty," he said.

　　The blouse was white, with a little sprig of heliotrope and black.

　　"Too young for me, though, I'm afraid," she said.

　　"Too young for you!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Why don't youbuy some false white hair and stick it on your head."

　　"I s'll soon have no need," she replied. "I'm going whitefast enough."

　　"Well, you've no business to," he said. "What do I wantwith a white-haired mother?"

　　"I'm afraid you'll have to put up with one, my lad," she saidrather strangely.

　　They set off in great style, she carrying the umbrella Williamhad given her, because of the sun. Paul was considerably tallerthan she, though he was not big. He fancied himself.

　　On the fallow land the young wheat shone silkily. Minton pitwaved its plumes of white steam, coughed, and rattled hoarsely.

　　"Now look at that!" said Mrs. Morel. Mother and son stood onthe road to watch. Along the ridge of the great pit-hill crawleda little group in silhouette against the sky, a horse, a small truck,and a man. They climbed the incline against the heavens. At the end the man tipped the wagon. There was an undue rattleas the waste fell down the sheer slope of the enormous bank.

　　"You sit a minute, mother," he said, and she took a seat ona bank, whilst he sketched rapidly. She was silent whilst he worked,looking round at the afternoon, the red cottages shining amongtheir greenness.

　　"The world is a wonderful place," she said, "and wonderfullybeautiful."

　　"And so's the pit," he said. "Look how it heaps together,like something alive almost--a big creature that you don't know."

　　"Yes," she said. "Perhaps!"

　　"And all the trucks standing waiting, like a string of beaststo be fed," he said.

　　"And very thankful I am they ARE standing," she said,"for that means they'll turn middling time this week."

　　"But I like the feel of MEN on things, while they're alive. There's a feel of men about trucks, because they've been handledwith men's hands, all of them."

　　"Yes," said Mrs. Morel.

　　They went along under the trees of the highroad. He wasconstantly informing her, but she was interested. They passedthe end of Nethermere, that was tossing its sunshine like petals lightlyin its lap. Then they turned on a private road, and in sometrepidation approached a big farm. A dog barked furiously. A woman came out to see.

　　"Is this the way to Willey Farm?" Mrs. Morel asked.

　　Paul hung behind in terror of being sent back. But the womanwas amiable, and directed them. The mother and son went throughthe wheat and oats, over a little bridge into a wild meadow. Peewits, with their white breasts glistening, wheeled and screamedabout them. The lake was still and blue. High overheada heron floated. Opposite, the wood heaped on the hill, green and still.

　　"It's a wild road, mother," said Paul. "Just like Canada."

　　"Isn't it beautiful!" said Mrs. Morel, looking round.

　　"See that heron--see--see her legs?"

　　He directed his mother, what she must see and what not. And she was quite content.

　　"But now," she said, "which way? He told me through the wood."

　　The wood, fenced and dark, lay on their left.

　　"I can feel a bit of a path this road," said Paul. "You've gottown feet, somehow or other, you have."

　　They found a little gate, and soon were in a broad greenalley of the wood, with a new thicket of fir and pine on one hand,an old oak glade dipping down on the other. And among the oaksthe bluebells stood in pools of azure, under the new green hazels,upon a pale fawn floor of oak-leaves. He found flowers for her.

　　"Here's a bit of new-mown hay," he said; then, again, he broughther forget-me-nots. And, again, his heart hurt with love, seeing her hand,used with work, holding the little bunch of flowers he gave her. She was perfectly happy.

　　But at the end of the riding was a fence to climb. Paul wasover in a second.

　　"Come," he said, "let me help you."

　　"No, go away. I will do it in my own way."

　　He stood below with his hands up ready to help her. She climbed cautiously.

　　"What a way to climb!" he exclaimed scornfully, when shewas safely to earth again.

　　"Hateful stiles!" she cried.

　　"Duffer of a little woman," he replied, "who can't get over 'em."

　　In front, along the edge of the wood, was a cluster of low redfarm buildings. The two hastened forward. Flush with the woodwas the apple orchard, where blossom was falling on the grindstone. The pond was deep under a hedge and overhanging oak trees. Some cows stood in the shade. The farm and buildings, three sidesof a quadrangle, embraced the sunshine towards the wood. It wasvery still.

　　Mother and son went into the small railed garden, where wasa scent of red gillivers. By the open door were some floury loaves,put out to cool. A hen was just coming to peck them. Then, in thedoorway suddenly appeared a girl in a dirty apron. She was aboutfourteen years old, had a rosy dark face, a bunch of short black curls,very fine and free, and dark eyes; shy, questioning, a littleresentful of the strangers, she disappeared. In a minute anotherfigure appeared, a small, frail woman, rosy, with great dark brown eyes.

　　"Oh!" she exclaimed, smiling with a little glow, "you've come,then. I AM glad to see you." Her voice was intimate and rather sad.

　　The two women shook hands.

　　"Now are you sure we're not a bother to you?" said Mrs. Morel. "I know what a farming life is."

　　"Oh no! We're only too thankful to see a new face, it's solost up here."

　　"I suppose so," said Mrs. Morel.

　　They were taken through into the parlour--a long, low room,with a great bunch of guelder-roses in the fireplace. There thewomen talked, whilst Paul went out to survey the land. He wasin the garden smelling the gillivers and looking at the plants,when the girl came out quickly to the heap of coal which stoodby the fence.

　　"I suppose these are cabbage-roses?" he said to her,pointing to the bushes along the fence.

　　She looked at him with startled, big brown eyes.

　　"I suppose they are cabbage-roses when they come out?"he said.

　　"I don't know," she faltered. "They're white with pink middles."

　　"Then they're maiden-blush."

　　Miriam flushed. She had a beautiful warm colouring.

　　"I don't know," she said.

　　"You don't have MUCH in your garden," he said.

　　"This is our first year here," she answered, in a distant,rather superior way, drawing back and going indoors. He did not notice,but went his round of exploration. Presently his mother came out,and they went through the buildings. Paul was hugely delighted.

　　"And I suppose you have the fowls and calves and pigsto look after?" said Mrs. Morel to Mrs. Leivers.

　　"No," replied the little woman. "I can't find time to lookafter cattle, and I'm not used to it. It's as much as I cando to keep going in the house."

　　"Well, I suppose it is," said Mrs. Morel.

　　Presently the girl came out.

　　"Tea is ready, mother," she said in a musical, quiet voice.

　　"Oh, thank you, Miriam, then we'll come," replied her mother,almost ingratiatingly. "Would you CARE to have tea now, Mrs. Morel?"

　　"Of course," said Mrs. Morel. "Whenever it's ready."

　　Paul and his mother and Mrs. Leivers had tea together. Then they went out into the wood that was flooded with bluebells,while fumy forget-me-nots were in the paths. The mother and son werein ecstasy together.

　　When they got back to the house, Mr. Leivers and Edgar,the eldest son, were in the kitchen. Edgar was about eighteen. Then Geoffrey and Maurice, big lads of twelve and thirteen, were infrom school. Mr. Leivers was a good-looking man in the prime of life,with a golden-brown moustache, and blue eyes screwed up againstthe weather.

　　The boys were condescending, but Paul scarcely observed it. They went round for eggs, scrambling into all sorts of places. As they were feeding the fowls Miriam came out. The boys took nonotice of her. One hen, with her yellow chickens, was in a coop. Maurice took his hand full of corn and let the hen peck from it.

　　"Durst you do it?" he asked of Paul.

　　"Let's see," said Paul.

　　He had a small hand, warm, and rather capable-looking.Miriam watched. He held the corn to the hen. The bird eyed it with herhard, bright eye, and suddenly made a peck into his hand. He started,and laughed. "Rap, rap, rap!" went the bird's beak in his palm. He laughed again, and the other boys joined.

　　"She knocks you, and nips you, but she never hurts," said Paul,when the last corn had gone. " Now, Miriam," said Maurice, "you comean 'ave a go."

　　"No," she cried, shrinking back.

　　"Ha! baby. The mardy-kid!" said her brothers.

　　"It doesn't hurt a bit," said Paul. "It only just nipsrather nicely."

　　"No," she still cried, shaking her black curls and shrinking.

　　"She dursn't," said Geoffrey. "She niver durst do anythingexcept recite poitry."

　　"Dursn't jump off a gate, dursn't tweedle, dursn't go on a slide,dursn't stop a girl hittin' her. She can do nowt but go about thinkin'herself somebody. 'The Lady of the Lake.' Yah!" cried Maurice.

　　Miriam was crimson with shame and misery.

　　"I dare do more than you," she cried. "You're never anythingbut cowards and bullies."

　　"Oh, cowards and bullies!" they repeated mincingly,mocking her speech.

　　 "Not such a clown shall anger me, A boor is answered silently,"

　　he quoted against her, shouting with laughter.

　　She went indoors. Paul went with the boys into the orchard,where they had rigged up a parallel bar. They did feats of strength. He was more agile than strong, but it served. He fingered a pieceof apple-blossom that hung low on a swinging bough.

　　"I wouldn't get the apple-blossom," said Edgar, the eldest brother. "There'll be no apples next year."

　　"I wasn't going to get it," replied Paul, going away.

　　The boys felt hostile to him; they were more interested in theirown pursuits. He wandered back to the house to look for his mother. As he went round the back, he saw Miriam kneeling in front of thehen-coop, some maize in her hand, biting her lip, and crouchingin an intense attitude. The hen was eyeing her wickedly.Very gingerly she put forward her hand. The hen bobbed for her.She drew back quickly with a cry, half of fear, half of chagrin.

　　"It won't hurt you," said Paul.

　　She flushed crimson and started up.

　　"I only wanted to try," she said in a low voice.

　　"See, it doesn't hurt," he said, and, putting only two cornsin his palm, he let the hen peck, peck, peck at his bare hand. "It only makes you laugh," he said.

　　She put her hand forward and dragged it away, tried again,and started back with a cry. He frowned.

　　"Why, I'd let her take corn from my face," said Paul,"only she bumps a bit. She's ever so neat. If she wasn't, lookhow much ground she'd peck up every day."

　　He waited grimly, and watched. At last Miriam let the birdpeck from her hand. She gave a little cry--fear, and pain becauseof fear--rather pathetic. But she had done it, and she did it again.

　　"There, you see," said the boy. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

　　She looked at him with dilated dark eyes.

　　"No," she laughed, trembling.

　　Then she rose and went indoors. She seemed to be in some wayresentful of the boy.

　　"He thinks I'm only a common girl," she thought, and she wantedto prove she was a grand person like the "Lady of the Lake".

　　Paul found his mother ready to go home. She smiled on her son. He took the great bunch of flowers. Mr. and Mrs. Leivers walkeddown the fields with them. The hills were golden with evening;deep in the woods showed the darkening purple of bluebells. It was everywhere perfectly stiff, save for the rustling of leavesand birds.

　　"But it is a beautiful place," said Mrs. Morel.

　　"Yes," answered Mr. Leivers; "it's a nice little place, if onlyit weren't for the rabbits. The pasture's bitten down to nothing. I dunno if ever I s'll get the rent off it."

　　He clapped his hands, and the field broke into motion nearthe woods, brown rabbits hopping everywhere.

　　"Would you believe it!" exclaimed Mrs. Morel.

　　She and Paul went on alone together.

　　"Wasn't it lovely, mother?" he said quietly.

　　A thin moon was coming out. His heart was full of happinesstill it hurt. His mother had to chatter, because she, too,wanted to cry with happiness.

　　"Now WOULDN'T I help that man!" she said. "WOULDN'T I seeto the fowls and the young stock! And I'D learn to milk, and I'Dtalk with him, and I'D plan with him. My word, if I were his wife,the farm would be run, I know! But there, she hasn't the strength--shesimply hasn't the strength. She ought never to have been burdenedlike it, you know. I'm sorry for her, and I'm sorry for him too. My word, if I'D had him, I shouldn't have thought him a bad husband! Not that she does either; and she's very lovable."

　　William came home again with his sweetheart at the Whitsuntide. He had one week of his holidays then. It was beautiful weather. As a rule, William and Lily and Paul went out in the morning togetherfor a walk. William did not talk to his beloved much, except to tellher things from his boyhood. Paul talked endlessly to both of them. They lay down, all three, in a meadow by Minton Church. On one side,by the Castle Farm, was a beautiful quivering screen of poplars. Hawthorn was dropping from the hedges; penny daisies and raggedrobin were in the field, like laughter. William, a big fellowof twenty-three, thinner now and even a bit gaunt, lay backin the sunshine and dreamed, while she fingered with his hair. Paul went gathering the big daisies. She had taken off her hat;her hair was black as a horse's mane. Paul came back and threadeddaisies in her jet-black hair--big spangles of white and yellow, and justa pink touch of ragged robin.

　　"Now you look like a young witch-woman," the boy said to her. "Doesn't she, William?"

　　Lily laughed. William opened his eyes and looked at her. In his gaze was a certain baffled look of misery and fierce appreciation.

　　"Has he made a sight of me?" she asked, laughing down onher lover.

　　"That he has!" said William, smiling.

　　He looked at her. Her beauty seemed to hurt him. He glancedat her flower-decked head and frowned.

　　"You look nice enough, if that's what you want to know,"he said.

　　And she walked without her hat. In a little while Williamrecovered, and was rather tender to her. Coming to a bridge,he carved her initials and his in a heart.

　　 L. L. W. W. M.

　　She watched his strong, nervous hand, with its glisteninghairs and freckles, as he carved, and she seemed fascinated by it.

　　All the time there was a feeling of sadness and warmth,and a certain tenderness in the house, whilst William and Lilywere at home. But often he got irritable. She had brought,for an eight-days' stay, five dresses and six blouses.

　　"Oh, would you mind," she said to Annie, "washing me thesetwo blouses, and these things?"

　　And Annie stood washing when William and Lily went out thenext morning. Mrs. Morel was furious. And sometimes the young man,catching a glimpse of his sweetheart's attitude towards his sister,hated her.

　　On Sunday morning she looked very beautiful in a dressof foulard, silky and sweeping, and blue as a jay-bird's feather,and in a large cream hat covered with many roses, mostly crimson. Nobody could admire her enough. But in the evening, when she wasgoing out, she asked again:

　　"Chubby, have you got my gloves?"

　　"Which?" asked William.

　　"My new black SUEDE."

　　"No."

　　There was a hunt. She had lost them.

　　"Look here, mother," said William, "that's the fourth pairshe's lost since Christmas--at five shillings a pair!"

　　"You only gave me TWO of them," she remonstrated.

　　And in the evening, after supper, he stood on the hearthrugwhilst she sat on the sofa, and he seemed to hate her. In theafternoon he had left her whilst he went to see some old friend. She had sat looking at a book. After supper William wanted to writea letter.

　　"Here is your book, Lily," said Mrs. Morel. "Would you careto go on with it for a few minutes?"

　　"No, thank you," said the girl. "I will sit still."

　　"But it is so dull."

　　William scribbled irritably at a great rate. As he sealedthe envelope he said:

　　"Read a book! Why, she's never read a book in her life."

　　"Oh, go along!" said Mrs. Morel, cross with the exaggeration,

　　"It's true, mother--she hasn't," he cried, jumping up and takinghis old position on the hearthrug. "She's never read a book in her life."

　　"'Er's like me," chimed in Morel. "'Er canna see what thereis i' books, ter sit borin' your nose in 'em for, nor more can I."

　　"But you shouldn't say these things," said Mrs. Morel to her son.

　　"But it's true, mother--she CAN'T read. What did you give her?"

　　"Well, I gave her a little thing of Annie Swan's. Nobody wantsto read dry stuff on Sunday afternoon."

　　"Well, I'll bet she didn't read ten lines of it."

　　"You are mistaken," said his mother.

　　All the time Lily sat miserably on the sofa. He turnedto her swiftly.

　　"DID you ready any?" he asked.

　　"Yes, I did," she replied.

　　"How much?"

　　"l don't know how many pages."

　　"Tell me ONE THING you read."

　　She could not.

© D. H. LAWRENCE

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