do it."

The heavy, balanced birds looked at the fierce little face
and the fleece of keen hair thrust between the bars, and they
raised their heads and swayed off, producing the long,
can-canking, protesting noise of geese, rocking their ship-like,
beautiful white bodies in a line beyond the gate.

"You're naughty, you're naughty," cried Anna, tears of dismay
and vexation in her eyes. And she stamped her slipper.

"Why, what are they doing?" said Brangwen.

"They won't let me come in," she said, turning her flushed
little face to him.

"Yi, they will. You can go in if you want to," and he pushed
open the gate for her.

She stood irresolute, looking at the group of bluey-white
geese standing monumental under the grey, cold day.

"Go on," he said.

She marched valiantly a few steps in. Her little body started
convulsively at the sudden, derisive can-cank-ank of the geese.
A blankness spread over her. The geese trailed away with
uplifted heads under the low grey sky.

"They don't know you," said Brangwen. "You should tell 'em
what your name is."

"They're naughty to shout at me," she flashed.

"They think you don't live here," he said.

Later he found her at the gate calling shrilly and
imperiously:

"My name is Anna, Anna Lensky, and I live here, because Mr.
Brangwen's my father now. He is, yes he is. And I
live here."

This pleased Brangwen very much. And gradually, without
knowing it herself, she clung to him, in her lost, childish,
desolate moments, when it was good to creep up to something big
and warm, and bury her little self in his big, unlimited being.
Instinctively he was careful of her, careful to recognize her
and to give himself to her disposal.

She was difficult of her affections. For Tilly, she had a
childish, essential contempt, almost dislike, because the poor
woman was such a servant. The child would not let the
serving-woman attend to her, do intimate things for her, not for
a long time. She treated her as one of an inferior race.
Brangwen did not like it.

"Why aren't you fond of Tilly?" he asked.

"Because--because--because she looks at me with her
eyes bent."

Then gradually she accepted Tilly as belonging to the
household, never as a person.

For the first weeks, the black eyes of the child were for
ever on the watch. Brangwen, good-humoured but impatient,
spoiled by Tilly, was an easy blusterer. If for a few minutes he
upset the household with his noisy impatience, h