Then she stood up, strode past Archelaus, and planted herself on the step higher than that he occupied.
"This is a queer keeping company, tandem fashion, and changing the leader," laughed Archelaus.
"We are not keeping company," answered Thomasine. "Tandem is best as we are, single best of all."
"I don't see why we should not keep company," said the lad.
"I do," answered Thomasine sharply; "have I not made it plain to you that I didn't want a life of drudgery, and that I choose to have a life in which I may amuse myself?"
"Let us try to sit on the same step," said Archelaus, "and then we can discuss the matter together, better than as we are, with one turning the back on the other."
"There is not room, Arkie."
"I'll try it all events," said he, as he got up and seated himself beside her. "Now we are together, and can keep steady if one puts an arm round the other."
"I will not be held by you," said she, and mounted to the step above; then she burst out laughing, and pointed. "Do y' look there," she said, "there is a keeping of company would suit you."
She indicated a pair that approached the farm. The man was lame, with a bad hip, and his right hand was furnished with two fingers only—it was Samuel Ceely. His maimed hand was thrust between the buttons of his waistcoat, and on his right arm rested the coarse red hand of Joan Melhuish.
"Do y' look there!" exclaimed Thomasine, "are they not laughable? They have been courting these twenty years, and no nigher marriage now than when they began, it might be the same with us, were I fool enough to listen and wait for what you offer."
"It is no laughing matter," said the lad, "it is sad."
"It is sad that she should be such a fool! Will his
