“Miss Everdene, let me assist you; you should not attempt such a thing alone.”
Troy was just opening the garden gate.
Bathsheba flung down the brush, crook, and empty hive, pulled the skirt of her dress tightly round her ankles in a tremendous flurry, and as well as she could slid down the ladder. By the time she reached the bottom Troy was there also, and he stooped to pick up the hive.
“How fortunate I am to have dropped in at this moment!” exclaimed the sergeant.
She found her voice in a minute. “What! and will you shake them in for me?” she asked, in what, for a defiant girl, was a faltering way; though, for a timid girl, it would have seemed a brave way enough.
“Will I!” said Troy. “Why, of course I will. How blooming you are to-day!” Troy flung down his cane and put his foot on the ladder to ascend.
“But you must have on the veil and gloves, or you’ll be stung fearfully!”
“Ah, yes. I must put on the veil and gloves. Will you kindly show me how to fix them properly?”
“And you must have the broad-brimmed hat, too, for your cap has no brim to keep the veil off, and they’d reach your face.”
“The broad-brimmed hat, too, by all means.”