He buried the box in its old place, and even cut a bit of sod from a distant part of the orchard to hide the traces of his work. When all was smooth again, he went back to the barn, swinging the spade carelessly but no longer whistling.
“The old devil,” he muttered, with keen appreciation. “The wise old devil!”
XIV
Mrs. Dodd’s Fifth Fate
Morning lay fair upon the land, and yet the Lady Elaine was weary. Like a drooping lily she swayed in her saddle, sick at heart and cast down. Earnestly her company of gallant knights strove to cheer her, but in vain. Even the merry quips of the fool in motley, who still rode at her side, brought no smile to her beautiful face.
Presently, he became silent, his heart deeply troubled because of her. An hour passed so, and no word was spoken, then, timidly enough, he ventured another jest.
The Lady Elaine turned. “Say no more, fool,” she commanded, “but get out thy writing tablet and compose me a poem. I would fain hear something sad and tender in place of this endless folly.”