As he spoke I thought that, by the look on his face, he was again receiving what he described as an impression so powerful as to amount to an emotion. And he communicated this emotion to me, so that I felt his prophecy to be a true one, and that his story would henceforward cease to be a mere story and would become a simple unwinding off the spool of inevitable truth.
He went on,—
“Our silence of course couldn’t endure for ever. The girl herself seemed conscious of this, for a smile, not unfriendly, came to her lips, and she said quite simply,—
“‘How you startled me! Good-morning.’
“‘I am very sorry,’ I said. ‘Can’t I make up for it by carrying those buckets for you?’
“‘Oh, they’re nothing with the yoke,’ she answered.
“Here old Amos came round the corner, walking clumsily on the cobbles with his hobnailed boots. He looked surprised to find me standing with the dairymaid, a little group of two.
“‘Morning!’ he cried very heartily to me. ‘You’re out betimes. Fine day, sir, fine day, fine day. Well, my girl, done with the cows?’
“‘I’m on my way to the dairy, dad,’ she said.
“I asked if I might come with her.