File:Katerfelto - a story of Exmoor (1875) (14592344820).jpg

Identifier: katerfeltostoryo00whytrich (find matches)
Title: Katerfelto : a story of Exmoor
Year: 1875 (1870s)
Authors: Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John), 1821-1878
Subjects:
Publisher: London : Chapman and Hall
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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h that led to the shore. She stoppedand plucked some wild flowers from the hedge, perhapsto hide a blush. ^-1 have a favour to ask you,* she said, in a lowvoice, and stooping her head over the posy. Do notsay Mistress Carew—I dont like it. I had rdth^r yoicwould call me Xelly. There was the least possible inflection of voice on thepronoun, just enough to make John Garnets heart beatas it had never beat before. Nelly, he repeated, * will you give m.e one of thoseflowers ? ^You may take the whole bunch, she answered, Ionly gathered them for you. But she walked on sofast after this gratifying avowal, that it was impossibleto tell her one word of the old tale that was rising tohis lips. All that day she LOok care not to be alone wdth himanother minute. From the orchard she took him tothe beach, where the villagers were collecting sea-weed;thence to a field where harvest was already nearlydone ; home by the cow-house, with its attendantmilkmaid; and so back to grandfathers parlour, where
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MORE THAN KIND. 165 she poured out his evening draught of cider with herown hands. Why Nelly should have cried like a naughty childwhen she laid her head on the pillow; why she shouldhave woke before daybreak, and risen at sunrise to putnew ribbons in her dress of a colour she had lately heardsomebody say he liked, is more than I can take uponme to explain. I can understand, however, why JohnGarnet lay a-bed longer than usual that same morning,and turned on the other side, hoping to go to sleepagain, that he might dream another dream like the lastabout Nelly Carew. Abner Gales dreams, if he had an)^ would seem tohave been of no such pleasant nature, for he was stirringwith the dawn, breakfasting fiercely before sunrise, onDevonshire mutton and strong ale, cursing, notwith-standing his profession^ each of his servants in turn forimputed shortcomings, from his cherry-cheeked parlour-maid to the man who fed the pigs. In and out thehouse, and through the precincts of the farm-yard, or bar

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