He rose and lurched off to join his comrades, and the poet looked after him, with something of envy in his eyes.
"O you fortunate man," he murmured, as he lay back, watching the busy scene, with half-closed eyes.
Presently he half started to his feet, for at the far end of the field he could see Tommy talking to two newcomers, a tall, slender figure, with a carriage and poise possessed by one alone, and a little girl in a smock frock.
He rose and wandered slowly down the field.
"Four or five," he murmured, "and they asked him—O the lucky, lucky man—they asked him. Dear me, dear me."
"A lovely evening, Miss Gerald."
Mollie looked up, with a smile, from the sheaf she was binding.
"Isn't it jolly—it must be a glad life these open-air folk lead, don't you think?"
"The best of lives—but they don't know it."
Mollie rose, and tossed back a wisp or two of hair from her forehead.