s provided. There was cabbage soup, a
_palette_ or big boiled ham, a piece of pork, a round of beef and
other things loved of Guernseymen, not forgetting copious draughts
of island cider. Two o'clock saw the men once more at the ploughing,
and the afternoon dragged a little till four o'clock, when the
housekeeper and the maids from Orvilliere appeared, bringing each
her large basket of _mirelevee_. This meant tea and currant cake,
and probably cider. A halt was called. Once more the men grouped
themselves into unconscious picturesquesness, and ate and drank to
their fill. But at this _al fresco_ meal a delightful air of
familiarity and coquetry made itself felt by the presence of the
rosy maidens from Orvilliere; above all by the appearance of
Blaisette Simon, who brought down a special batch of cakes, made and
cooked by herself. Le Mierre was at her side at once and a pretty
flirtation sprang up, for the master was in an excellent temper and
the girl was marvellously taken by the handsome power and devilry of
the captain of the work. Never had she seen him look half so well,
she said to herself. Ah, if he proposed, she would not feel inclined
to refuse him! She leant over the hedge and looked out to sea, and
he stood close beside her, his blue jerseyed shoulder brushing the
stray gold of her hair. Lovers they seemed, even if lovers in
reality they were not.

So thought Ellenor Cartier as she watched them from the little cove
below the field. She stood, a solitary figure against the sky, on
the rough arm of a little harbour where she waited for the return of
her father from fishing. She had been watching for the red sail of
his boat since three o'clock, but she had turned many times to send
hungry, lingering looks at the field, above all at the prominent
figure of Le Mierre. When Blaisette came, in the glory of a new gown
and a pink sunbonnet, it seemed to Ellenor that life was harder than
she could bear, for she was shut out from the _Grand Plough_. Her
father had not been asked to help, he was too much beneath the rank
of Le Mierre; therefore no excuse could be framed to admit her into
the enchanted field. Jealousy sharpened her eyesight, she thought
she could see the white hand of Blaisette slip through Dominic's
arm. It was too much. She turned away and looked out to sea, blinded
by tears.

The red sail of Cartier's boat fluttered in the breeze that blew
from the land, and with swift grace the little craft came i