On her old pink quilt Little Poll, sound asleep, was lifted from
the shade of one shock to another, while Kate worked across her
share of the field. As she worked she kept looking at the child.
She frankly adored her, but she kept her reason and held to rigid
rules in feeding, bathing, and dressing. Poll minded even a
gesture or a nod.
Above, the flocking larks pierced the air with silver notes, on
the fence-rows the gathering robins called to each other; high in
the air the old black vulture that homed in a hollow log in Kate's
woods, looked down on the spots of colour made by the pink quilt,
the gold corn, the blue of Kate's dress, and her yellow head. An
artist would have paused long, over the rich colour, the grouping
and perspective of that picture, while the hazy fall atmosphere
softened and blended the whole. Kate, herself, never had appeared
or felt better. She worked rapidly, often glancing across the
field to see if she was even with, or slightly in advance of Adam.
She said it would never do to let the boy get "heady," so she made
a point of keeping even with him, and caring for Little Poll, "for
good measure."
She was smiling as she watched him working like a machine as he
ripped open husks, gave the ear a twist, tossed it aside, and
reached for the next. Kate was doing the same thing, quite as
automatically. She was beginning to find the afternoon sun almost
hot on her bare head, so she turned until it fell on her back.
Her face was flushed to coral pink, and framed in a loose border
of her beautiful hair. She was smiling at the thought of how Adam
was working to get ahead of her, smiling because Little Poll
looked such a picture of healthy loveliness, smiling because she
was so well, she felt super-abundant health rising like a
stimulating tide in her body, smiling because the corn was the
finest she ever had seen in a commonly cultivated field, smiling
because she and Adam were of one accord about everything, smiling
because the day was very beautiful, because her heart was at
peace, her conscience clear.
She heard a car stop at her gate, saw a man alight and start
across the yard toward the field, and knew that her visitor had
seen her, and was coming to her. Kate went on husking corn and
when the man swung over the fence of the field she saw that he was
Robert, and instantly thought of Mrs. Southey, so she ceased to
smile. "I've got a big notion to tell him what I think of him,"
she said to herself, even as she looked up to greet him.
Instantly she saw that he had come for something.