The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-03-02

........................ happy and at his ease. He had for gotten all about the train at Shelford, was simply enjoying his pipe, his novel surroundings. ana, more than all, the presence, the proximity, of this beautiful young creature. He would have been quite content to sit on the corn-bin for the remainder of the night, gazing at her. he was made so.
 presently. twill you give me a drink of water?"
 She. made no reply; but she left him. and presently returned with a Jar and glass.
 There's some beer," she said. 'Tt's better than water; and you look tired" 8 "Do r" he said. 1T don't feel so; but it is a long time since I've had a drink-or anything to eat, for that inatter-and won't say mo-" He drank the ale almost at draught. That's good!" he said. The beer warmed him; he had been rather chilled coming through the mist. May beg another glass? An, yes, it's very goodl"
 The generous ale, brewed by a neighbouring farmer. and innocent of any de1eterious compound, ran through his veins and set his heart jumping. His eyes. as they dweIt on her; grew bright and cheerful
 Are you all alone here?" he asked.
 "Yes,' she said fearlessly and un- hesitatingly. My fathers gone down to the village. He is late tonight; perhaps the mist kept him.
 And you are working the mill ?'' he asked.
 She nodded. "Yes; there has been no wind for the last two days; it sprang up tonight, and set her go- ing"
 "You are--young to have so much responsibility" he said. T mean, something might go wrong"
 What could go wrong7" she asked, with a '.1ild contempt for his ignor- ance. "Its easy enough. You've only to watch the hoppers. and any one can do that. I've done it all my life"
 "Really!" he said, gazing at her.
 She met his eyes feariessly, openly.
 T didn't know there was mill here," he said; lat least, not mill in working. Has it been working long?"
 She shrugged her shoulders slightly, in fashion that struck Ronald as somewhat foreign, un-English.
 Tt has been working ever since can remember" she said indifferently. My father came here when I was a child, quite a child, and it has been working ever since. Do you live near here?"
 'No," replied Ronald, truthfully enough; 1T live in London. I'm go- ing there now. if I can get there.''
 She leant against the woodwork of the narrow passage, and eyed him thoughtfully.
 Perhaps you are hungry?" she said. "I didn't think to ask you. will you have some bread-and-b butter There's nothing else"
 "Rather!" responded Ronald promptly. I'm simply starving; but didn't know it until this moment" l"
 A faint smile crossed her face, the first he had seen, and she left him again, to return with plate of bread-and-butter. Ronald ate it slow ly, and with obvious enjoyment. Then he put the empty plate on the top of the corn-bin beside him and rose with a reluctant sigh-reluctant, be- cause he now knew that he was tired, and that the girl interested him. To put it shortly, he would have liked to have remained with her, to have seen more of her, to have heard more of the sweet contralto, which, when she spoke, seemed to fill the narrow space in which they were with a subtle and delicious music. He had risen slowly, as slowly reflled his pipe, and, as he lit it, looked dis tastefully towards the moor. 'I must be going" he said reluct- antly. "I'm awfulIy obliged to you. You've been very kind to me, kinder than I deserve, for I broke your win dow. That reminds me- He took some silver from his pock- ct and. as unobtrusively as possible, laid it down on the lid of the corn bin. The clear olive of the girls face flushed crimson, she frowned darkly,