"
"You haven't got to eat sorrel pies, have you?" Rose asked, in a
bewildered way.
"I don't s'pose they'll be any worse than some other things we eat,"
Sarah answered, scraping the pie-board again.
"I don't see how you can."
"I guess they won't hurt us any," Sarah said, shortly, and Rose
looked abashed.
"Well, I must be going," said she.
As she went out, she looked hesitatingly at Charlotte. "Hadn't you
better?" she whispered. Charlotte shook her head, and Rose went out
into the spring sunlight. She bent her head as she went down the road
before the sweet gusts of south wind; the white apple-trees seemed to
sing, for she could not see the birds in them.
Rose's face between the green sides of her bonnet had in it all the
quickened bloom of youth in spring; her eyes had all the blue
surprise of violets; she panted softly between red swelling lips as
she walked; pulses beat in her crimson cheeks. Her slender figure
yielded to the wind as to a lover. She passed Barney Thayer's new
house; then she came opposite the field where he was at work
ploughing, driving a white horse, stooping to his work in his blue
frock.
Rose stood still and looked at him; then she walked on a little way;
then she paused again. Barney never looked around at her. There was
the width of a field between them.
Finally Rose went through the open bars into the first field.
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