out-of-the-way life with a cranky woman year after year; never reading
anything, never seeing any one but tramps and animals and villagers. And
yet, sitting there beside his eccentric brother on that fallen tree, he
had an extraordinary sense of rest. It was, perhaps, but the beauty
and sweetness of the day with its dappling sunlight brightening the
apple-blossoms, the wind-flowers, the wood-sorrel, and in the blue sky
above the fields those clouds so unimaginably white. All the tiny
noises of the orchard, too, struck on his ear with a peculiar meaning,
a strange fulness, as if he had never heard such sounds before. Tod, who
was looking at the sky, said suddenly:

"Are you hungry?"

And Felix remembered that they never had any proper meals, but, when
hungry, went to the kitchen, where a wood-fire was always burning, and
either heated up coffee, and porridge that was already made, with boiled
eggs and baked potatoes and apples, or devoured bread, cheese, jam,
honey, cream, tomatoes, butter, nuts, and fruit, that were always set
out there on a wooden table, under a muslin awning; he remembered, too,
that they washed up their own bowls and spoons and plates, and, having
finished, went outside and drew themselves a draught of water. Queer
life, and deuced uncomfortable--almost Chinese in its reversal of
everything that every one else was doing.

"No," he said, "I'm not."

"I am. Here she is."

Felix felt his heart beating--Clara was not alone in being frightened
of this woman. She was coming through the orchard with the dog; a