ough an identically similar process, one quarter of the
trees would die away during the ensuing August.

Hence Winterborne found delight in the work even when, as at present,
he contracted to do it on portions of the woodland in which he had no
personal interest. Marty, who turned her hand to anything, was usually
the one who performed the part of keeping the trees in a perpendicular
position while he threw in the mould.

He accompanied her towards the spot, being stimulated yet further to
proceed with the work by the knowledge that the ground was close to the
way-side along which Grace must pass on her return from Hintock House.

"You've a cold in the head, Marty," he said, as they walked. "That
comes of cutting off your hair."

"I suppose it do. Yes; I've three headaches going on in my head at the
same time."

"Three headaches!"

"Yes, a rheumatic headache in my poll, a sick headache over my eyes,
and a misery headache in the middle of my brain. However, I came out,
for I thought you might be waiting and grumbling like anything if I was
not there."

The holes were already dug, and they set to work. Winterborne's
fingers were endowed with a gentle conjuror's touch in spreading the
roots of each little tree, resulting in a sort of caress, under which
the delicate fibres all laid themselves out in their proper directions
for growth. He put most of these roots towards the south-west; for, he
said, in forty years' time, when some great gale is blowing from that
quarter, the trees will require the strongest holdfast on that side to
stand against it and not fall.

"How they sigh directly we put 'em upright, though while they are lying
down they don't sigh at all," said Marty.

"Do they?" said Giles. "I've never noticed it."

She erected one of the young pines into its hole, and held up her
finger; the soft musical breathing instantly set in, which was not to
cease night or day till the grown tree should be felled--probably long
after the two planters should be felled themselves.

"It seems to me," the girl continued, "as if they sigh because they are
very sorry to begin life in earnest--just as we be."

"Just as we be?" He looked critically at her. "You ought not to feel
like that, Marty."

Her only reply was turning to take up the next tree; and they planted
on through a great part of the day, almost without another word.
Winterborne's mind ran on his contemplated evening-party, his
abstraction being