Lizzie received her in the orchard, where she was feeding the chickens. She was not yet dressed for the afternoon, it being her mother’s turn to go to church, and various household duties falling in consequence to her share to-day; but she had put on the clean print which was to serve her throughout the coming week, and a big white apron over that. Her curly brown hair was plaited very neatly, and her sleeves rolled up high on her firm plump arms. The sun glanced down through the heavily laden apple boughs upon her active little figure as she flitted from one hen-coop to another dispensing handfuls of yellow meal to the half-fledged chickens that ran in and out between the bars; her bright tin bucket glittered in the rays, and the little brown tendrils on her forehead danced up and down with the rapidity of her movements.
[Picture: “Oh, Lizzie, I’ve such a piece of news for you!”]
“Oh, it’s you,” she remarked, not quite so cordially as usual.
“Yes, it’s me,” cried Susan eagerly. “Oh, Lizzie, I’ve such a piece of news for you! Tom Locke has been away all the week, and they d’ say he’s jest come back wi’ two eyes—a new imitation one that looks jest the same as t’other.”
“Has he truly?” responded Lizzie, her lingering resentment forgotten, and a broad smile beaming on her face. “Why, I _am_ glad, I am, sure. Ye’ll be willin’ to take up wi’ en now, Susan?”
“I’ll see,” responded the other, with a little toss of the head. “I can’t answer for myself altogether, but I’ll try to conquer my feelin’s. I’m jest thinkin’ o’ takin’ a stroll over the bridge yonder an’ up the lane towards Locke’s. An’ if I do happen to meet en we’ll see how things turns out, Lizzie.”
But it chanced that the meeting with Tom Locke was to take place under different circumstances than those which his sweetheart had anticipated. At that very moment the portly form of Mrs. Fripp emerged from the back door of the cottage, followed by the tall figure of a man—a man whose bearded brown face was enlivened by a pair of beautiful brown eyes. He advanced straight to Lizzie, beaming with pleasure and manly pride.
“Good day to ’ee, Lizzie,” he cried. “I’ve jest come to ax if ye’ll go for a walk wi’ me.”
“Oh, Mr. Locke, ye mane Susan, surely?” stammered the little rosy-faced damsel.