much displeased with you
for disobeying his directions, too. He gave up some important business
to come down here and see you, and I hope he scolds you well. Have you
been writing any lately?" she asked accusingly.

"No!" answered Hardy absently, "we don't have to _fight_ them--"

"But, Rufus," protested Lucy Ware, laying her hand on his arm, "do
take your mind from those dreadful sheep. I asked you if you have been
doing any _writing_ lately--you promised to send me some poems, don't
you remember? And I haven't received a thing!"

"Oh!" said Hardy, blushing at his mistake. "Well, I acknowledge that
I haven't done right--and you have been very kind, too, Miss
Lucy," he added gently. "But somehow I never finish anything down
here--and the sheep have been pretty bad lately. I have to do my work
first, you know. I'll tell you, though," he said, lowering his voice
confidentially, "if I can see you when no one is around I'll give you
what little I've written--at least, some of the best. A poet at
his worst, you know," he added, smiling, "is the poorest man in the
world. He's like a woman who tells everything--no one could respect
him. But if we can take our finer moods, and kind of sublimate them,
you know, well--every man is a poet some time."

He hesitated, ended lamely, and fell suddenly into a settled silence.
The hard lines about his lips deepened; his eyes, cast to the ground,
glowed dully; and in every feature Lucy read the despair that was
gnawing at his heart. And with it there was something more--a tacit
rebuke to her for having brought Kitty there to meet him.

"We have missed you very much," she began softly, as if reading his
thoughts, "and your letters were so interesting! Ever since I showed
Kitty the first one she has been crazy to come down here. Yes, she has
been reading 'The Virginian' and O. Henry and 'Wolfville' until it is
simply awful to hear her talk. And ride--she has been taking lessons
for a year! Her saddle is out there now in the wagon, and if she could
have caught one of those wild horses out in that inclosed field I
really believe she would have mounted him and taken to the hills like
an Indian. I had to come down to take care of father, you know,
and--aren't you glad to see us, Rufus?"

She gazed up at him anxiously, and her eyes became misty as she spoke;
but Hardy was far away and he did not see.

"Yes," he said absently, "but--I shall be very busy. Oh, where is your
father?"

A li