Innocent | Page 8

ribbon tied in his long and heavy mane meant some sort of festival.
When all was done the haymakers gathered round.
"Good luck to the last load, Mr. Clifford!" they shouted.
"Good luck to you all!" answered Robin, cheerily.
"Good luck t'ye, Miss!" and they raised their sun-browned faces to the
girl as she looked down upon them. "As fine a crop and as fair a load
next year!"
"Good luck to you!" she responded--then suddenly bending a little
forward she said almost breathlessly: "Please wish luck to Dad! He's
not well--and he isn't here! Oh, please don't forget him!"
They all stared at her for a moment, as if startled or surprised, then they
all joined in a stentorian shout.
"That's right, Miss! Good luck to the master! Many good years of life
to him, and better crops every year!"
She drew back, smiling her thanks, but there were tears in her eyes.
And then they all started in a pretty procession--the men leading Roger,
who paced along the meadow with equine dignity, shaking his ribbons
now and again as if he were fully conscious of carrying something
more valuable than mere hay,--and above them all smiled the girl's
young face, framed in its soft brown hair and crowned with the wild
roses, while at her side stood the very type of a model Englishman,
with all the promise of splendid life and vigour in the build of his form,
the set of his shoulders and the poise of his handsome head. It was a
picture of youth and beauty and lovely nature set against the warm
evening tint of the sky,--one of those pictures which, though drawn for
the moment only on the minds of those who see it, is yet never
forgotten.
Arriving presently at a vast enclosure, in which already two loads of

hay were being stacked, they were hailed with a cheery shout by
several other labourers at work, and very soon a strong smell of beer
began to mingle with the odour of the hay and the dewy scent of the
elder flowers and sweet briar in the hedges close by.
"Have a drop, Mr. Clifford!" said one tall, powerful-looking man who
seemed to be a leader among the others, holding out a pewter tankard
full and frothing over.
Robin Clifford smiled and put his lips to it.
"Just to your health, Landon!" he said--"I'm not a drinking man."
"Haymaking's thirsty work," commented the other. "Will Miss Jocelyn
do us the honour?"
The girl made a wry little face.
"I don't like beer, Mr. Landon," she said--"It's horrid stuff, even when
it's home-brewed! I help to make it, you see!"
She laughed gaily--they all laughed with her, and then there was a little
altercation which ended in her putting her lips to the tankard just
offered to Robin and sipping the merest fleck of its foam. Landon
watched her,--and as she returned the cup, put his own mouth to the
place hers had touched and drank the whole draught off greedily. Robin
did not see his action, but the girl did, and a deep blush of offence
suffused her cheeks. She rose, a little nervously.
"I'll go in now," she said--"Dad must be alone by this time."
"All right!" And Robin jumped lightly from the top of the load to the
ground and put the ladder up for her to descend. She came down
daintily, turning her back to him so that the hem of her neat white skirt
fell like a little snowflake over each rung of the ladder, veiling not only
her slim ankles but the very heels of her shoes. When she was nearly at
the bottom, he caught her up and set her lightly on the ground.

"There you are!" he said, with a laugh--"When you get into the house
you can tell Uncle that you are a Rose Queen, a Hay Queen, and Queen
of everything and everyone on Briar Farm, including your very humble
servant, Robin Clifford!"
"And your humblest of slaves, Ned Landon!" added Landon, with a
quick glance, doffing his cap. "Mr. Clifford mustn't expect to have it all
his own way!"
"What the devil are you talking about?" demanded Robin, turning upon
him with a sudden fierceness.
Innocent gave him an appealing look.
"Don't!--Oh, don't quarrel!" she whispered,--and with a parting nod to
the whole party of workers she hurried away.
With her disappearance came a brief pause among the men. Then
Robin, turning away from Landon, proceeded to give various orders.
He was a person in authority, and as everyone knew, was likely to be
the owner of the farm when his uncle was dead. Landon went close up
to him.
"Mr. Clifford," he said, somewhat thickly, "you heard what I said just
now? You mustn't