ht, loose hair, pink
dress, and flowing ribbons, throwing into effective contrast the dark
hair, dark eyes, white drapery, and gleaming ornaments of her elder
sister.

In the hall they met the squire. He was very fond and very proud of his
daughters; and he gave his right arm to Sophia, and slipped his left
hand into Charlotte's hand with an affectionate pride and confidence
that was charming.

"Any news, mother?" he asked, as he lifted one of the crisp brown trout
from its bed of white damask and curly green parsley.

"None, squire; only the sheep-shearing at the Up-Hill Farm to-morrow.
John of Middle Barra called with the statesman's respects. Will you go,
squire?"

"Certainly. My men are all to lend a hand. Barf Latrigg is ageing fast
now; he was my father's crony; if I slighted him, I should feel as if
father knew about it. Which of you will go with me? Thou, mother?"

"That, I cannot, squire. The servant lasses are all promised for the
fleece-folding; and it's a poor house that won't keep one woman busy in
it."

"Sophia and Charlotte will go then?"

"Excuse me, father," answered Sophia languidly. "I shall have a
headache to-morrow, I fear; I have been nervous and poorly all the
afternoon."

"Why, Sophia, I didn't think I had such a foolish lass! Taking fancies
for she doesn't know what. If you plan for to-morrow, plan a bit of
pleasure with it; that's a long way better than expecting a headache.
Charlotte will go then. Eh? What?"

"Yes, father; I will go. Sophia never could bear walking in the
heat. I like it; and I think there are few things merrier than a
sheep-shearing."

"So poetic! So idyllic!" murmured Sophia, with mild sarcasm.

"Many people think so, Sophia. Mr. Wordsworth would remember Pan and
Arcadian shepherds playing on reedy pipes, and Chaldaean shepherds
studying the stars, and those on Judaea's hills who heard the angels
singing. He would think of wild Tartar shepherds, and handsome Spanish
and Italian."

"And still handsomer Cumberland ones." And Sophia, having given this
little sisterly reminder, added calmly, "I met Mr. Wordsworth to-day,
father. He had come over the fells with a party, and he looked very
much bored with his company."

"I shouldn't wonder if he were. He likes his own company best. He is a
great man now, but I remember well when people thought he was just a
little off-at-side. You knew Nancy Butterworth, mother?"

"Certainly I did, squire. She lived near Rydal.