Andy would call again
soon,--maybe to-night! While Andy, in the hot streets, was looking at
every closed shutter, wondering if Estelle was behind it.
"Poor little Ann! she"--
No! not even to himself would he say, "She likes me"; but his face grew
suddenly fiery red, and he lashed Jerry spitefully.
A damp, sharp air was blowing up from the bay that evening, when the
milk-wagon rumbled up the lane towards home. Only on the high tree-tops
the sun lingered; beneath were broad sweeps of brown shadows cooling
into night. The lindens shook out fresh perfume into the dew and quiet.
The few half-tamed goats that browse on the hills hunted some dark
corner under the pines to dampen out in the wet grass the remembrance of
the scorching day. Here and there passed some laborer going home in his
shirt-sleeves, fanning off the hot dust with his straw hat, glad of the
chance to stop at the cart-wheel and gossip with Andy.
"Ye 'r' late, Fawcett. What news from town?"
So that it was nearly dark before he came under the shadow of the great
oak by his own gate. The Quaker was walking backwards and forwards along
the lane. Andy stopped to look at her, therefore; for she was usually so
quiet and reticent in her motion.
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