Then Fanny was summoned, and Martha made way for her to preside at the tea-tray.
“No; you’d better pour out,” the girl said absently. “I’d rather sit here.”
“Here” was where she could see through the open window out into the road; and there she sat while the meal was discussed, little attention being paid to her by her brother, who divided his time between eating heartily himself, and pressing slices of ham upon Martha, who took her place in the most matter-of-fact way, and supplied her host’s wants, which were frequent, as the teacups were very small. In fact, so occupied with their meal were Brother William and Martha, that they did not notice a slow, deliberate step in the road, passing evidently down the lane; neither did they see that Fanny’s face, as she bent lower over her cup, became deeply suffused, and that she did not look up till the step had died away, when she uttered a low sigh, as if a burden had been removed from her breast.
After that, though, they did notice that she became brighter and more willing to enter into conversation, seeming at last to take quite an interest in her brother’s account of the loss of a sheep through its getting upside down in a ditch; and she also expressed a feeling of satisfaction upon hearing that hay would fetch a good price in the autumn, so many people having had theirs spoiled.
“Never mind me,” said Fanny, as soon as, between them, she and Martha had put away the tea-things: “I shall go into the garden and look round.”
Brother William evidently did not mind her, for, in his slow deliberate way, he took off Martha to introduce her to the cows; after which she had to scrape acquaintance with the pigs, visit the poultry, who were somewhat disturbed, inasmuch as they were settling themselves in the positions that they were to occupy for the night, and made no little outcry in consequence. Then there were the sheep; and there was last year’s haystack, and this year’s, both of which had to be smelt, Brother William pulling out a good handful from each, to show Martha that there was not a trace of damp in either. This done, a happy thought seemed to strike Brother William, who turned to Martha and exclaimed: “I wonder whether you could churn?”
“Let’s try,” said Martha, with the air of one who would have made the same answer if it had been the question of making a steam-engine or a watch.
Brother William gave one of his legs a vigorous slap, and marched Martha back into the house, through into the dairy. Then he fetched a can of hot-water to rinse out and warm the churn. There was a pot of lumpy cream already waiting, and this was carefully poured in, the lid duly replaced, with the addition of a cloth, to keep the cream from splashing out, and then he stood and watched Martha, who was busily pinning up her dress all round. She then turned up her sleeves and took out a clean pocket-handkerchief, which she folded by laying one corner across to the other, and then tied it over her head and under her chin, making her pleasant comely face look so provocative, that Brother William drew a long breath, took a step forward, and was going to catch Martha in his arms; but he recollected himself in time, gave a slew round, and caught hold of the churn handle instead, and this he began to turn steadily round and round, as if intending to play a tune.
“I thought I was to make it,” said Martha quietly.
“Oh, ah, yes, of course,” he said, resigning the handle; and then he drew back, as if it was not safe for him to stand there and watch, while Martha steadily turned and turned, and the cream within the snowy white sycamore box went “wish-wash, wish-wash, wish-wash,” playing, after all, a very delicious tune in the young farmer’s ears, for it suggested yellow butter, and yellow butter suggested sovereigns, and sovereigns suggested borne comforts and savings, and above all, the turning of that handle suggested the winning of just the very wife to occupy that home.