A man's reach should exceed his grasp,
or what's a Heaven for?" Without waiting for possible protests she went
into the house.

The odd-job man smiled.

"She's all right," he said softly to no one in particular. "Oh, lor',
_yes_!... _She's_ all right."

He whistled softly, but without obvious discontent, and made a change in
his labors. Giving the machine a well-earned rest, he began to gather up
the cut grass from a square of canvas that lay extended on the ground
and stuffed it into the sack referred to by Mrs. Peters. This task
brought him near the tall privet-hedge, reinforced by a four-foot
paling, which sheltered the vicarage garden from the road. He had hardly
accounted for a dozen armfuls when a voice from the other side of the
hedge said, "Good morning."

Regardless of Mrs. Peters' late instructions, the odd-job man dropped a
generous portion of grass and stood transfixed. "So you've come!" he
said quietly but distinctly. "For goodness' sake let's have a look at
your pretty face!"

The privet-hedge parted, and a damsel of twenty-three smiled upon the
gratified Brown.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Lots," replied the odd-job man, pressing closer to the hedge. "But I
tell you what would be better still----"

"Yes?"

"I shall have to whisper it...."

The damsel, full of innocent curiosity, bent forward to listen. The
odd-job man, congratulating himself on extraordinary cunning, bent
forward and essayed a kiss of welcome. The intended recipient, however,
seemed to be possessed of a sixth sense or instinct, for, when his lips
were on the point of meeting hers, she drew back with a melodious cry of
surprise. The kiss was too late to be checked, and unhappily was
bestowed upon a bunch of privet.

The odd-job man mildly whispered the equivalent of "How very annoying!"
and then remonstrated in a louder tone. He pointed out that he had not
seen his visitor for a week, and that under the circumstances the least
she could do, etc.

"Ye ... es," agreed the damsel, parting the hedge once more, "it is
true, all that you say. But you forget that you have not earned it yet."

"Holy Moses!" said the odd-job man, appealing to the heavens. "Here I
chuck my job in London at a word--or, rather, a letter from you! I come
down here got up as a laborer; I hang about the blessed village till I'm
sick for the town and you again; I get taken on here to work--and, mind
you, it _is_ work, though I don't grumble at that. A