for nothing used to please me more than swimming
in a flooded river. But I thought of the rocks, and I thought of the
cramp, and more than all, of Lorna; and so, between one thing and
another, I let it roll on without me.

[Illustration: 399.jpg Jump in and swim]

It was now high time to work very hard; both to make up for the
farm-work lost during the months of frost and snow, and also to be ready
for a great and vicious attack from the Doones, who would burn us in our
beds at the earliest opportunity. Of farm-work there was little yet for
even the most zealous man to begin to lay his hand to; because when the
ground appeared through the crust of bubbled snow (as at last it did,
though not as my Lorna had expected, at the first few drops of rain)
it was all so soaked and sodden, and as we call it, "mucksy," that to
meddle with it in any way was to do more harm than good. Nevertheless,
there was yard work, and house work, and tendence of stock, enough to
save any man from idleness.

As for Lorna, she would come out. There was no keeping her in the house.
She had taken up some peculiar notion that we were doing more for her
than she had any right to, and that she must earn her living by the
hard work of her hands. It was quite in vain to tell her that she was
expected to do nothing, and far worse than vain (for it made her cry
sadly) if any one assured her that she could do no good at all. She even
began upon mother's garden before the snow was clean gone from it, and
sowed a beautiful row of peas, every one of which the mice ate.

But though it was very pretty to watch her working for her very life,
as if the maintenance of the household hung upon her labours, yet I was
grieved for many reasons, and so was mother also. In the first place,
she was too fair and dainty for this rough, rude work; and though it
made her cheeks so bright, it surely must be bad for her to get her
little feet so wet. Moreover, we could not bear the idea that she should
labour for her keep; and again (which was the worst of all things)
mother's garden lay exposed to a dark deceitful coppice, where a man
might lurk and watch all the fair gardener's doings. It was true that
none could get at her thence, while the brook which ran between poured
so great a torrent. Still the distance was but little for a gun to
carry, if any one could be brutal enough to point a gun at Lorna. I
thought that none could be found to do it; but mother, having more