Sylvia's Lovers

'I'd like to bid good-by to Sylvie. Is she at home?' he asked of her

father.

'A'm thinking thou'll not find her. She'll be off to Yesterbarrow t'

see if she'd get a settin' o' their eggs; her grey speckled hen is

cluckin', and nought 'll serve our Sylvia but their eggs to set her

upon. But, for a' that, she mayn't be gone yet. Best go on and see

for thysel'.' So they parted; but Philip had not gone many steps before his uncle

called him back, Kinraid slowly loitering on meanwhile. Robson was

fumbling among some dirty papers he had in an old leather case,

which he had produced out of his pocket.

'Fact is, Philip, t' pleugh's in a bad way, gearin' and a', an' folk

is talkin' on a new kind o' mak'; and if thou's bound for York---' 'I'm not going by York; I'm going by a Newcastle smack.' 'Newcassel--Newcassel--it's pretty much t' same. Here, lad, thou can

read print easy; it's a bit as was cut out on a papper; there's

Newcassel, and York, and Durham, and a vast more towns named, wheere

folk can learn a' about t' new mak' o' pleugh.' 'I see,' said Philip: '"Robinson, Side, Newcastle, can give all

requisite information."' 'Ay, ay,' said Robson; 'thou's hit t' marrow on t' matter. Now, if

thou'rt i' Newcassel, thou can learn all about it; thou'rt little

better nor a woman, for sure, bein' mainly acquaint wi' ribbons, but

they'll tell thee--they'll tell thee, lad; and write down what they

sayn, and what's to be t' price, and look sharp as to what kind o'

folk they are as sells 'em, an' write and let me know. Thou'll be i'

Newcassel to-morrow, may-be? Well, then, I'll reckon to hear fro'

thee in a week, or, mayhap, less,--for t' land is backward, and I'd

like to know about t' pleughs. I'd a month's mind to write to

Brunton, as married Molly Corney, but writin' is more i' thy way an'

t' parson's nor mine; and if thou sells ribbons, Brunton sells

cheese, and that's no better.' Philip promised to do his best, and to write word to Robson, who,

satisfied with his willingness to undertake the commission, bade him

go on and see if he could not find the lass. Her father was right in

saying that she might not have set out for Yesterbarrow. She had

talked about it to Kinraid and her father in order to cover her

regret at her lover's accompanying her father to see some new kind

of harpoon about which the latter had spoken. But as soon as they

had left the house, and she had covertly watched them up the brow in

the field, she sate down to meditate and dream about her great

happiness in being beloved by her hero, Charley Kinraid. No gloomy

dread of his long summer's absence; no fear of the cold, glittering

icebergs bearing mercilessly down on the Urania, nor shuddering

anticipation of the dark waves of evil import, crossed her mind. He

loved her, and that was enough. Her eyes looked, trance-like, into a

dim, glorious future of life; her lips, still warm and reddened by

his kiss, were just parted in a happy smile, when she was startled

by the sound of an approaching footstep--a footstep quite familiar

enough for her to recognize it, and which was unwelcome now, as

disturbing her in the one blessed subject of thought in which alone

she cared to indulge.