Sylvia's Lovers - Page 60/290

'What for do yo' want my keys?' asked Bell.

'Only just to get out one of t' damask napkins.' 'The best napkins, as my mother span?' 'Yes!' said Sylvia, her colour heightening. 'I thought as how it

would set off t' sausages.' 'A good clean homespun cloth will serve them better,' said Bell,

wondering in her own mind what was come over the girl, to be

thinking of setting off sausages that were to be eaten, not to be

looked at like a picture-book. She might have wondered still more,

if she had seen Sylvia steal round to the little flower border she

had persuaded Kester to make under the wall at the sunny side of the

house, and gather the two or three Michaelmas daisies, and the one

bud of the China rose, that, growing against the kitchen chimney,

had escaped the frost; and then, when her mother was not looking,

softly open the cloth inside of the little basket that contained the

sausages and a fresh egg or two, and lay her autumn blossoms in one

of the folds of the towel.

After Daniel, now pretty clear of his rheumatism, had had his

afternoon meal (tea was a Sunday treat), he prepared to set out on

his walk to Moss Brow; but as he was taking his stick he caught the

look on Sylvia's face; and unconsciously interpreted its dumb

wistfulness.

'Missus,' said he, 't' wench has nought more t' do, has she? She may

as well put on her cloak and step down wi' me, and see Molly a bit;

she'll be company like.' Bell considered.

'There's t' yarn for thy stockings as is yet to spin; but she can

go, for I'll do a bit at 't mysel', and there's nought else agate.' 'Put on thy things in a jiffy, then, and let's be off,' said Daniel.

And Sylvia did not need another word. Down she came in a twinkling,

dressed in her new red cloak and hood, her face peeping out of the

folds of the latter, bright and blushing.

'Thou should'st na' ha' put on thy new cloak for a night walk to

Moss Brow,' said Bell, shaking her head.

'Shall I go take it off, and put on my shawl?' asked Sylvia, a

little dolefully.

'Na, na, come along! a'm noane goin' for t' wait o' women's chops

and changes. Come along; come, Lassie!' (this last to his dog).

So Sylvia set off with a dancing heart and a dancing step, that had

to be restrained to the sober gait her father chose. The sky above

was bright and clear with the light of a thousand stars, the grass

was crisping under their feet with the coming hoar frost; and as

they mounted to the higher ground they could see the dark sea

stretching away far below them. The night was very still, though now

and then crisp sounds in the distant air sounded very near in the

silence. Sylvia carried the basket, and looked like little Red

Riding Hood. Her father had nothing to say, and did not care to make

himself agreeable; but Sylvia enjoyed her own thoughts, and any

conversation would have been a disturbance to her. The long

monotonous roll of the distant waves, as the tide bore them in, the

multitudinous rush at last, and then the retreating rattle and

trickle, as the baffled waters fell back over the shingle that

skirted the sands, and divided them from the cliffs; her father's

measured tread, and slow, even movement; Lassie's pattering--all

lulled Sylvia into a reverie, of which she could not have given

herself any definite account. But at length they arrived at Moss

Brow, and with a sudden sigh she quitted the subjects of her dreamy

meditations, and followed her father into the great house-place. It

had a more comfortable aspect by night than by day. The fire was

always kept up to a wasteful size, and the dancing blaze and the

partial light of candles left much in shadow that was best ignored

in such a disorderly family. But there was always a warm welcome to

friends, however roughly given; and after the words of this were

spoken, the next rose up equally naturally in the mind of Mrs

Corney.