'
At last she found her voice:
'Where's Joe?'
'He thought you'd like a change: they say variety's the salt of
life--that's why I'm mostly in pickle.'
'Where is he?'
'Am I my brother's keeper? He's gone his own ways.'
'Where?'
'Nay, how am I to know? Not so far but he'll be back for supper.'
She stopped in the middle of the lane. He stopped facing her.
'Where's Joe?' she asked.
He struck a careless attitude, looked down the road this way and that,
lifted his eyebrows, pushed his khaki cap on one side, and answered:
'He is not conducting the service tonight: he asked me if I'd officiate.'
'Why hasn't he come?'
'Didn't want to, I expect. I wanted to.'
She stared him up and down, and he felt uncomfortable in his spine, but
maintained his air of nonchalance. Then she turned slowly on her heel,
and started to walk back. The corporal went at her side.
'You're not going back, are you?' he pleaded. 'Why, me and you, we should
get on like a house on fire.'
She took no heed, but walked on. He went uncomfortably at her side,
making his funny remarks from time to time. But she was as if stone deaf.
He glanced at her, and to his dismay saw the tears running down her
cheeks. He stopped suddenly, and pushed back his cap.
'I say, you know--' he began.
But she was walking on like an automaton, and he had to hurry after her.
She never spoke to him. At the gate of her farm she walked straight in,
as if he were not there.
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