Changing Winds. St. John G. Ervine
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Название: Changing Winds
Автор: St. John G. Ervine
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066223229
isbn:
"What would I be angry for?"
He did not know. Last night, perhaps, when he had kissed her?
"Oh, that!" she said. "Sure, that's nothin'!"
"Nothing?"
Why, then, had she left him so suddenly? She must have known how much he had to say to her....
"Look at the time it was!" she exclaimed. "An' me havin' to get up at five an' let the cows out.... You weren't up at no five, I'll bet!" He had risen at eight. "Eight!" she exclaimed. "That's no hour of the day to be risin'. If you were married to me, I'd make you skip long before that hour!"
Married to her!...
"Sheila," he whispered, taking hold of her arm.
"Well?" she said, thrusting a hay-stalk into his hair.
"I love you, Sheila!" he whispered, coming closer to her.
"Do you, indeed?" she answered.
"I do, Sheila, I do...."
He raised himself so that he was kneeling in front of her. His shyness had left him now, and the words were pouring rapidly out of his mouth.
"The minute I saw you in the door of the schoolroom that night, I was in love with you. I was, indeed!"
"Were you?"
"Yes. I couldn't help it, Sheila, and the worst of it was I didn't know what to say to you. And then, last night ... when we were walking up the 'loanie' together and I was holding your arm ... you know!... like this...." He took hold of her arm as he spoke and pressed it in his.... "I felt like ... like...."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Like anything. You will marry me, Sheila? You do love me?..."
She withdrew her arm from his and struck him lightly with a wisp of hay. "You're in a terrible hurry all of a sudden!" she said. "One minute you hardly know me, an' the next minute you're gettin' ready to be married to me. You're a despert wee fella!"
Wee fellow again!
"I'm not so very young," he said.
"What age are you?" she asked.
"I'm nearly seventeen," he replied.
She jumped up and stood over him. "God save us," she said, "that's the powerful age. You'd nearly bate Methusaleh!"
He stood up beside her. "Now, you're laughing at me again," he complained.
"No, I'm not," she answered.
She laid her hand on his shoulder and gripped it firmly, and stood thus, looking at him intently. Then she drew him into her arms and kissed him. "I like you quaren well," she said, holding him to her.
"Do you, Sheila?"
"Aye, of course I do, or I wouldn't be huggin' you like this, would I? Did you bring the yella male?"
He nodded his head. "It's down below," he said.
"Dear, oh, dear," she sighed. "I've wasted a terrible lot of time on you, Mr. Quinn!..."
"Call me 'Henry,'" he said.
"I'll call you 'Harry,'" she answered.
"You can call me anything you like!..."
She pinched his cheek. "You're a dear wee fella," she said. He did not mind being called a "wee fella" now. "But you're keepin' me from my work," she went on.
He seized her hand impetuously. "Take a day off," he said, "and we'll go for a long walk together!"
She laughed at him. "You quality people is the great ones for talk," she replied. "An' how could I take a day off an' me with my work to do?"
"Well, this evening then," he urged.
"There'll be the cows to milk!..."
"I'll come and help you."
"But sure you can't milk!"
"No, I can't milk, of course, but I can do anything else you want done. I can hold things and ... and run messages ... and just help you. Can't I? And then, when you've finished your work, we'll go and sit in the clover field...."
"An' get our death of cold sittin' on the damp ground. Dear O, but men talks quare blether!"
He tried to persuade her that dew was not damping. ... "Ah, quit!" she exclaimed ... and then he begged for her company in a walk along the Ballymena Road.
"I suppose I'll have to give in to you," she said. "You're a terrible fella for coaxin'!"
She moved towards the trap where the head of the ladder showed, and prepared to descend from the loft.
"What time will I come for you?" he asked, following her.
"Half-seven," she answered, going down the ladder. "I'll be well done my work then!"
He stood above her, looking down through the trap. "We generally have dinner at half-past seven," he said.
"You should have your dinner in the middle of the day, like us," she answered, and added, decisively, "It's half-seven or never!"
"All right," he exclaimed, stooping down carefully and putting his feet on a rung of the ladder. "I'll come for you then. I'll manage it somehow."
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