CHAPTER VII

CONCERNING A LABOURER, HIS HIRE Though he was a full hour before the appointed time and all her attention was apparently centred upon the battered old silver coffee-pot, you may be reasonably sure that she (goddess-like) espied him the very moment he opened the little wicket-gate; and a goodly sight was Dallas for the eyes of any person feminine—his clean-cut hawk face, the lithe vigour of him as he went striding towards that remote and leafy corner of the garden where lay the miry duck-pond. “I s’pose,” sighed the…