Amelia had a rapid
thought that he was not so old as he looked; experience, rather than
years, must have wrought its trace upon him. He was leading a little
girl, dressed with a very patent regard for warmth, and none for
beauty. Amelia, with a quick, feminine glance, noted that the child's
bungled skirt and hideous waist had been made from an old army
overcoat. The little maid's brown eyes were sweet and seeking; they
seemed to petition for something. Amelia's heart did not respond; at
that time, she had no reason for thinking she was fond of children. Yet
she felt a curious disturbance at sight of the pair. She afterwards
explained it adequately to the man, by asserting that they looked as
odd as Dick's hatband.
"Want any farmwork done?" asked he. "Enough to pay for a night's
lodgin'?" His voice sounded strangely soft from one so large and
rugged. It hinted at unused possibilities. But though Amelia felt
impressed, she was conscious of little more than her own cold and
stiffness, and she answered sharply,--
"No, I don't. I don't calculate to hire, except in hayin' time, an'
then I don't take tramps."
The man dropped the child's hand, and pushed her gently to one side.
"Stan' there, Rosie," said he.
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