All day long the whirr of the reaper and binder had rattled from distant
fields in a monotone of sound broken at regular intervals by guttural
cries when the horses at a corner turned on their tracks, and later in
the afternoon by desultory gunshots, when from the golden triangle of
wheat rabbits darted over the fresh stubble. All day long Jenny, obeying
some deep instinct, prepared for the ordeal. The sun blazed over the
spread harvest; the fields crackled with heat; the blue sky seemed to
close upon the earth, and not even from the whole length of Trewinnard
Sands was heard a solitary ripple of the tide. In the garden the
claret-colored dahlias hung down their tight, uncomfortable flowers;
geraniums, portulacas, nasturtiums, sunflowers and red-hot pokers burned
in one furnace of bloom. Red admiral butterflies soared lazily up and
down against the gray walls crumbling with heat, and from flower to
flower of the scarlet salvias zigzagged the hummingbird hawkmoths.
Granfa Champion, wiping with gaudy bandana his forehead, came out to
plant daffodil bulbs stored in the green shadows of a cool potting shed.
"Now, you know you mustn't go digging in this sun, Mr. Champion," said
reproving May.
"My cheeks are so hot as pies," declared Granfa.
"Do come and sit down with us," said Jenny.
"I believe I mustn't start tealing yet awhile," said the old man,
regretfully plunging his long Cornish spade into the baked earth, from
which insufficient stability the instrument fell with a thump on to the
path.
"Well, how are 'ee feeling, my dear?" asked Granfa, standing before
Jenny and mopping his splendid forehead. "None so frail, I hope?"
"She isn't feeling at all well. Not to-day," said May.
"That's bad," said Granfa. "That's poor news, that is."
"I feel frightened, Mr. Champion," said Jenny suddenly. Somehow this old
man recalled Mr. Vergoe, rousing old impulses of childish confidence and
revelation.
"Feeling frightened, are 'ee? That's bad."
"Supposing it wasn't a person at all?" said Jenny desperately. "You
know, like us?"
The old man considered for a moment this morbid fancy.
"That's a wisht old thought," he said at last, "and I don't see no call
for it at all. When I do teal a lily root, I don't expect to see a
broccolo come bursting up and annoying me."
"But it might," argued Jenny, determined not to be convinced out of all
misgiving.
"Don't encourage her, Mr. Champion," said May severely. "Tell her you
think she's silly."
Jenny buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Granfa looked at
her for a moment; then, advocating silence with his right forefinger,
with his left thumb he indicated to May by jabbing it rapidly backwards
over his shoulder that inside and upstairs to her bedroom was the best
place for Jenny.
So presently she was lying on the tapestried bed in the tempered
sunlight of her room, while through the house in whispers ran the news
that it might be any time now. Up from downstairs sounded the
restlessness of making ready. The sinking sun glowed in the heart of
every vivid Brussels rose and bathed the dusty floor with orange lights.
Jenny's great thought was that never again would she endure this agony,
if but this once she were able to survive it. She vowed, tearing in
savage emphasis the patchwork counterpane, that nothing should induce
her to suffer like this a second time.
The afternoon faded tranquilly into dusk. No wind agitated a single
dewy petal, and only the blackbirds with intermittent alarums broke the
silence. The ripe round moon of harvest, floating mild and yellow and
faintly luminous along the sky, was not yet above the hills. Mrs.
Trewhella was not yet willing to despatch a summons to the doctor. Two
more hours sank away. Out in the fields, marching full in the moon's
face, the reapers went slowly homewards. Out in the fields they sang old
songs of the earth and the grain; out in the waste the fox pricked his
ears and the badger turned to listen. Down in the reeds the
sedge-warbler lisped through the low ground vapors his little melody.
The voices of the harvesters died away in purple glooms, and now, as if
in a shell, the sea was heard lapping the sand. Through the open lattice
rose the scent of the tobacco plants. There was a murmur of voices in
consultation. Jenny heard a shout for Thomas, and presently horses'
hoofs trotting down the farm road.
High and small and silver was the moon before she heard them coming
back. The dewdrops were all diamonds, the wreathed vapors were
damascened by moonlight, before she heard the grate of wheels and the
click of the gate and another murmur of voices. Then the room was filled
with black figures; entering lamplight seemed to magnify her pain, and
Jenny knew little more until, recovering from chloroform, she perceived
a candle, large as a column, burning with giant spearhead of flame and,
beyond the blue and silver lattice, apprehended a fuss of movement.
"What is it?" she asked in momentary perplexity.
"'Tis a boy," said Mrs. Trewhella. "A grand lill chap."
"What's all that noise?" she murmured petulantly.
"'Tis me, my dear soul," said Mrs. Trewhella, "putting all straight as
we belong."
May leaned over her sister, squeezing her hand.
"I think I shall like having a baby," said Jenny, "when we can take him
out for walks. You know, just you and me, young May."