Chapter 4 three

three With Ashurst the wheel of sleep used to turn quietly, slipperily, and swiftly, but when his friend returned he was wide awake, though he seemed to have fallen asleep; Sleeping soundly on another bed in the low room, he turned his nose up and worshiped the darkness. After a long time, he still heard the hooting of an owl.Apart from the uncomfortable knee, there was nothing unpleasant—the cares of life did not appear very great in the sleepless nights to this young man.In fact he has no worries.Just registered and called to the bar; with literary ambitions.He has a bright future; has no father or mother, and has his own income of four hundred pounds a year.Where to go, what to do; when to do it, what difference does it make to him?His bed was also hard, which kept him from having a fever.He lay, smelling the night air that wafted into the low house through the open window near his head.Aside from being definitely annoyed with his friend - which is only natural after you've hiked with a guy for three days -

During this sleepless night Ashurst recalled the scene of the day with calmness, longing and excitement.One impression was so clear that he couldn't explain it, because he didn't realize that he had noticed it before, and that was the face of the gun-cleaning boy; down the kitchen doorway, and then moved quickly to the girl with the cider jug.In his memory, this red face with blue eyes, light eyelashes, and flaxen hair was as different and faded as the girl's moist and simple face.But at last, through the dark, uncurtained frame, he saw day coming and heard a rough, sleepy cry.Then there was deathly silence again, until the song of a thrush, not quite sober, boldly broke the silence.At this time, Ashurst, who had been watching the gradual light in the window frame, fell asleep.

The next day, his knee was badly swollen; the hike was clearly out of the question.Garton was due to return to London the next day, and when he left at noon, he smiled sarcastically, leaving an annoying scar—— But the scar healed as soon as his striding figure disappeared around the corner of the steep path.Ashurst worked on his knees all day, sitting in a green-painted wooden chair on the grass by the yew porch. Here the sun evaporates the scent of violets and the faint smell of blossoming currants.He smoked happily, dreaming, and observing his surroundings. The farm in spring is alive—

Young animals and plants sprout out of their shells. People watched the growth process with slight excitement, feeding and watering new life.The young man sat motionless, while a mother goose, with crossed strides, came majestically waddling with her six yellow-necked and gray-backed goslings, grinding on the blades of grass at his feet. Their little flat mouths.Either Mrs. Narracombe or Miss Meghan would come over and ask him if he wanted anything, and he would always say with a smile, "Nothing, thank you. It's wonderful here." When it was almost tea time, they came out together and brought Using a warm poultice made from a bowl of black stuff spread on a long piece of cloth, he examined his swollen knee gravely for a while, then tied it up.When they were gone, he recalled the girl's soft "Yah!"--remembered her pitiful eyes and the little wrinkles on her brow.At this time, he felt inexplicable anger at the friend who had left him for saying such absurd things as her.When she brought out the tea, he asked:

"What do you think of my friend, Megan?" She pursed her lips tightly, as if she was afraid that it would be impolite to smile. "He's a funny gentleman; he made us all laugh. I think he's very clever." "What did he say that made you all laugh?" "He says I'm Bards' daughter. Who's Bards?" "A Welsh poet who lived hundreds of years ago." "Why am I their daughter, please?" "He means you're the kind of girl they sing about." She frowned. "I think he's a joker. Am I one of those girls?"

"I told you, do you believe me?" "Ah, letter!" "Well, I think he's right." she laughed. Ashurst thought: "What a lovely little thing you are!" "And he said Joe was a Saxon. What does that mean?" "Which one is Joe? The one with the blue eyes and the red face?" "Yes. My uncle's nephew." So, not your cousin anymore? " "no." "Well, he means Joe is like the men who came here to conquer England four hundred years ago." "Oh! I know their history; but is he?" "Gardont's fond of that sort of thing; though I'll say Joe does look a little like an early Saxon."

"yes." This "yes" interested Ashurst very much.It was so crisp and refined, so sure, and politely acquiesced to something she clearly didn't understand. "He said the other boys were all real gypsies. He shouldn't have said that. My aunt laughed aloud, but of course she didn't like it, and my cousin was offended. Uncle was a farmer— — Farmers are not gypsies.It is wrong to offend people. " Ashurst longed to take her hand and shake it, but he simply replied: "Exactly, Megan. By the way, I heard you put the little ones to bed last night."

She blushed slightly. "Tea, please—it's getting cold. Shall I bring you something warm?" "Do you have time for yourself?" "Oh! Yes." "I've been paying attention, but I haven't seen it yet." She frowned in bewilderment, and her blush deepened. When she was gone, Ashurst thought: "Does she think I'm teasing her? I'd never do that!" He was at that age, and to some at that age, as the poet says, "beauty is A flower", and inspired in their hearts the idea of ​​helping the weak and weeding the strong.He never paid much attention to his surroundings, so it was a long time before he noticed that standing outside the stable door was the young man whom Garton called "the Saxon type"; he wore soiled brown corduroy trousers, stained with Mud leggings, blue shirt, the color is quite gorgeous when put together; red arms, red face, spruce-colored hair reflected flaxen; he stood there resolutely, stubbornly, without a smile.Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the yard, walked towards the kitchen entrance, and disappeared around the corner, with the step of a young peasant who is always ashamed to walk slowly and steadily.Ashurst shivered.All rednecks?Despite your good intentions, it's impossible to get on well with them.But—look at that girl!Her shoes are torn, and her hands are rough; but—

What is the essence?Was it really her Celtic blood that Gardon had said it was? ——She is a born lady of everyone, a bright pearl, although she may not understand anything except rough writing! The clean-shaven, elderly man seen in the kitchen last night had come out into the yard with a dog and was driving the cows to milk them.Ashurst saw that he was crippled. "Your cows are fine!" The cripple's face lit up.His eyes were always looking up, which is one of the symptoms of long years of torture. "Yes; they are real beauties; good cows, too." "I believe so."

"Hope your leg is better, sir." "Thank you, I'm getting better now." The cripple touched his leg: "I know what it's like; a bad knee is really worrying. My knee has been sick for ten years." Ashurst uttered the sound of sympathy most easily blurted out by men of independent means, and the cripple smiled again. "But I can't complain—they're almost cured of it." "Oh!" "Yes; it's almost better now than it was." "They put a wonderful ointment on me." "The girl picked it. She's a good girl who knows flowers. Some people seem to know a lot of things that can cure diseases. My mother is a rare expert in this field. Hope you get better soon, sir. Come on, hurry up." !"

Ashurst laughed. "Those who know flowers!" She is a flower herself! That evening, after he had finished his dinner of cold duck, soufflé and cider, the girl came in. "Aunt said— Would you please try a piece of our may pie? " "Better let me go to the kitchen and eat." "Well! You're missing your friend." "No. But you know no one is upset?" "Who's not happy? You go, we'll all be happy." Ashurst forgot that his knees were inconvenient to stretch and bend, he stood up too violently, staggered, and squatted down.The girl gasped slightly in fright, and held out her hand.Ashurst took the small rough brown hands and wished to bring them to his lips, but he resisted the urge and let her help him up.She pressed close to him, leaning on his shoulders.So he walked across the room leaning on her.That shoulder seemed to be the most comfortable thing he had ever touched.Still conscious, he snatched the cane from the rack and drew his hand back before reaching the kitchen. He slept soundly at night and woke up with his knee almost back to shape.In the morning, he sat in a chair on the grass again, scribbling some poems; in the afternoon, he went for a walk with the two children, Nick and Rick.It was Saturday, so they came home early from school.These two dark little fellows, one of seven and the other of six, were lively and shy, but soon they talked a lot, and it turned out that Ashurst had a good way of dealing with children.By about four o'clock they had shown him the whole way of destroying life, and all they had to do was touch the trout; Tsukuru even has this ability.Of course +  and anxiously waved Xin sword  leech   cut a certain trick  turmoil? Shouting scared all the spotted fish away.Ashurst sat on a rock by the beech wood and watched them, listening to the cuckoos, until Nick, the older boy, who was less persistent in playing, came and stood beside him. "The gypsy ghost is sitting on this rock." "What gypsy?" "Don't know; never saw him. Megan says he sits here; old Jim saw it once. He sat here the night before our pony kicked father in the head. He plays the fiddle." "What tune is he playing?" "have no idea." "What does he look like?" "It's dark. Old man Jim says he's hairy. A real ghost. He doesn't come at night." The boy's black eyes slanted up and slanted around. "Do you think he will take me? Megan is afraid of him." "Has she seen him?" "No. She's not afraid of you." "I don't think she's afraid. Why should she be afraid of me?" "She prayed for you" "How do you know, you little rascal?" "While I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, Mr. Ashurs.' I heard her whisper." "People didn't ask you to listen, but you heard it and said it, you are a little bastard!? The child fell silent.Then he said vigorously: "I can peel rabbits. Meghan, she's too soft to peel. I love blood." "Ah! You love blood; you little monster!" "What is a monster!" "The guy who loves to hurt others." The child scowled. "That's just dead rabbits, that's what we eat." "Yes, Nick. Excuse me." "I can still peel frogs." But Ashurst was already absent-minded. "God bless us all, bless Mr. Ashers!" Nick didn't know why the other party suddenly couldn't get close, so he ran back to the river, where laughter and shouts immediately rose again. When Meghan brought out his tea, he asked: "What's a gypsy, Meghan?" Startled, she looked up. "He's a bad omen." "Of course you don't believe in ghosts + Jun?" I hope I never see him. " "Of course you don't. There's no such thing. What old Jim sees is a pony." "No! There are ghosts among the rocks; they are long dead." "They're not gypsies, anyway; these old men died long before the gypsies came here." She put it simply: "They're all bad things." "Why? If there were, they were wild and wild, like hares. Flowers don't rot because they're wild; hawthorns have never been planted, but you don't think them bad. Evening I'm going to find your ghost and have a talk with him." "Don't look for it! Don't look for it!" "I will! I will go and sit on his rock." She clasped her hands together: "Ah, please!" "Why! What does it matter if something happens to me?" She didn't answer; he added, as if in a temper tantrum: "Well, I'm afraid I won't see him, because I think I'll have to start soon." "soon?" "Your aunt won't keep me here." "To keep! We always rent out the house in the summer." He fixed his eyes on her face and asked: "Would you like me to stay?" "willing." "I'm going to pray for you tonight." She blushed, frowned, and walked out of the room.He sat cursing himself until he made the tea too strong.It was as if he had trampled a clump of hyacinths mercilessly with his thick boots.Why did he say such stupid things?Was he just as much a college jackass in town as Robert Gardon and didn't know the girl?