e. To the young
men, who read nothing but the Gentleman's Magazine and the Whitehaven
Herald, and to Aspatria, who had but a volume of the Ladies' Garden
Manual, Notable Things, her Bible and Common Prayer, Fenwick was a
book of travel, song, and story, of strange adventures, of odd bits of
knowledge, and funny experiences. Things old and new fell from his
handsome lips. Squire William and Brune heard them with grave
attention, with delight and laughter; Aspatria with eyes full of
wonder and admiration.

As the season advanced and they grew more familiar, Aspatria was
thrown naturally into his society. The Squire was in the hay-field;
Brune had his task there also. Or they were down at the Long Pool,
washing the sheep, or on the fells, shearing them. In the haymaking,
Aspatria and Fenwick made some pretence of assistance; but they both
very soon wearied of the real labour. Aspatria would toss a few
furrows of the warm, sweet grass; but it was much sweeter to sit down
under the oak-tree with Fenwick at her side, and watch the moving
picture, and listen to the women singing in their high shrill voices,
as they turned the swaths, the Song of the Mower, and the men
mournfully shouting out the chorus to it,--

"We be all like grass! We be all like grass!"

As for the oak, it liked them to sit under it; all its leaves talked
to each other about them. The starlings, though they are always in a
hurry, stopped to look at the lovers, and went off with a Q-q-q of
satisfaction. The crows, who are a bad lot, croaked innuendoes, and
said it was to be hoped that evil would not come of such folly. But
Aspatria and Fenwick listened only to each other; they saw the whole
round world in each other's eyes.

Fenwick spoke very low; Aspatria had to droop her ear to his mouth to
understand his words. And they were such delightful words, she could
not bear to lose one of them. Then, as the sun grew warm, and the
scent of the grass filled the soft air, and the haymakers were more
and more subdued and quiet, heavenly languors stole over them. They
sat hand in hand,--Aspatria sometimes with shut eyes humming to
herself, sometimes dreamily pulling the long grass at her side;
Fenwick mostly silent, yet often whispering those words which are
single because they are too sweet to be double,--"Darling! Dearest!
Angel!" and the words drew her eyes to his eyes, drew her lips to his
lips; ere she was aware, her heart had passed from her in long,
l