Читать книгу The Primrose Path: A Chapter in the Annals of the Kingdom of Fife онлайн

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“The furrow is straight,” said Rob, “straight as an arrow; that is the ploughman’s pride; but it is not so easy to draw a straight line as you think. I have known people who could never do it.”

Margaret was crimson with the failure.

“It’s me that am stupid!” she cried, in sudden rage with herself. “How do the ploughmen learn to do it? There’s nobody to show them the way.”

“It’s their pride; and it’s their trade, Miss Margaret.”

“Oh!” cried Margaret, stamping her foot, “it shall be my pride, and my trade too. I will begin to-night when I go home. I will never, never rest till I can do it.”

“But it will never be your trade—nor mine,” said Rob Glen, with a sigh. “I wish I knew what mine was. You are rich and a lady; but I am a poor man, that must work for my living, and I don’t know what I must do.”

“If I were you—” said Margaret. As she spoke she blushed, but only because she always did, not with any special signification in it. Rob, however, did not understand this. He saw the glow of color, the sudden brightness, the droop and sensitive fall of the soft eyelids: all things telling of emotion, he thought, as though the supposition, “if I were you,” had thrilled the girl’s being; and his own heart gave a leap. Did she—was it possible—feel like this for him already? “If I were you,” said Margaret, musingly, “I would be a farmer; but no, not, perhaps, if I were you. You could do other things; you could go into the world, you could do something great—”