Halcombe Dike, coming home from church that morning a little in advance of the crowd, saw a "Pre-raphaelite" in the doorway of Mr. Guest's barn, and quietly unlatching the gate came nearer to examine it. It was worth examining. There was a ground of great shadows and billowy hay; a pile of crimson apples struck out by the light through a crack; two children and a kitten asleep together in a sunbeam; a girl on the floor with a baby crawling over her; a girl in a chocolate-colored dress with yellow leaves in her hair,—her hair upon her shoulders, and her eyelashes wet.
"Well, Sharley!"
She looked up to see him standing there with his grave, amused smile.
Her first thought was to jump and run; her second, to stand fire.
"Well, Mr. Halcombe! Moppet's stuck yellow leaves all over me; my hair's down; I've got on a horrid old morning-dress; look pretty to see company, don't I?"
"Very, Sharley."
"Besides," said Sharley, "I've been crying, and my eyes are red."
"So I see."
"No, you don't, for I'm not looking at you."
"But I am looking at you."
"Oh!"