"Oh, well, that is settled," said Cardo. "I shall be glad of a
companion, and will do my best to make him happy. I hope he'll be a
jolly fellow."
"Jolly fellow? I hope he will be a steady young man, and a fit
companion for you. You don't seem to think of the necessity of that!"
"I leave that to you, sir," said Cardo, with a humorous smile. "I
should never dream of questioning your prudence in the matter."
The old man nervously fingered his papers.
"Well, that is settled. I will not keep you longer from your fishing
or your rowing--which is it to-day, Cardo?" and he raised his black
eyebrows, and spoke with a slight sneer.
Cardo laughed good-naturedly.
"Neither fishing nor boating to-day, sir. No! it's that field of
swedes this afternoon," and he turned away with his hands dug deep in
his pockets.
"A bad habit, Cardo! An industrious man never walks about with his
hands in his pockets."
"All right, father! here goes for the swedes; and you bet I won't have
my hands in my pockets there. I flatter myself I can do good work as
well as any man."
His father looked after him with a curious wistfulness.
"A fine fellow!" he said to himself, as Cardo's steps receded along the
passage. "Not much fault to be found with him! How can I spare him?
But he must go--he must go."
Meanwhile Cardo, no longer with his hands in his pockets, stood in the
swede field directing Shoni and Dye, and not only directing, but often
taking his share in the weeding or hoeing. He was full of interest in
the farming operations, which, in truth, were thoroughly congenial to
his tastes.
"Bless the turnips and mangolds," he would often say; "at least they
take you out under the blue sky, and into the fresh air." He pondered
upon the proposed addition to his father's household. Suddenly an
unpleasant thought seemed to strike him, for his face flushed, and he
gave a long, low whistle. "Phew! I never thought of that! Why! I
shall never have an hour with Valmai with this confounded wrangler at
my heels! Deuce anwl! how shall I manage it? one thing only I know, no
power on earth--not even an 'M.A.'--shall keep me from her."
But neither that day nor the next was Valmai to be seen. It was two or
three days before she was able to throw off entirely the languor which
followed her immersion in the sea; but on the evening of the third day,
as the sun drew near its setting, she once more roamed down the path to
the beach, a new light in her eyes and a warmer glow on her cheek.
The long shadows of evening stretched over the shore, and the sun sank
low in the western sky, all flooded with crimson, and purple, and pale
yellow, as she flung herself down under a towering rock, still a little
languid, but full of an inrushing tide of happiness. The green waves
came rolling in, their foaming crests catching the rosy pink of the
sunset; the sea-gulls sailed lazily home from their day's fishing. The
sheep on the hillside were folded, and the clap clap of the mill in the
valley came on the breeze.