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She had the easy freedom of obscurity and the consciousness of power. She enjoyed both. She was in no hurry. While Eden Bower watched the pigeons, Don Hedger sat on the other side of the bolted doors, looking into a pool of dark turpentine, at his idle brushes, wondering why a woman could do this to him. He, too, was sure of his future and knew that he was a chosen man.
But if man is not to be considered a reasoning being, unless he asks what his sensations and perceptions are, and why they are, what is a Hottentot, or an Australian "black-fellow"; or what the "swinked hedger" of an ordinary agricultural district? Nay, what becomes of an average country squire or parson?
After Hedger read this, standing under the gas, he went back into the closet and knelt down before the wall; the knot hole had been plugged up with a ball of wet paper, the same blue note-paper on which her letter was written. He was hard hit. Tonight he had to bear the loneliness of a whole lifetime.
But the principal thing about him was his care for the old wood; and when he rode out to look at it, as I say, he would speak to any one around so early his bailiff, as might be, or sometimes his agent, or even the foreman of the workshop or the carpenter, or any hedger or ditcher that might be there, and point out bits of the wood, and say, "That branch looks pretty dicky.
He knows what that means, and he makes a worse face. He likes Molly Welch, and she'll be disappointed if I don't bring him." Eden said decidedly that he couldn't take both of them. So at twelve o'clock when she and Hedger got on the boat at Desbrosses street, Caesar was lying on his pallet, with a bone. Eden enjoyed the boat-ride.
'No hedger brished nor scythesman swung'. and 'The morning hedger with his brishing-hook'. These two lines explain the word #brish#. O.E.D. gives brish as dialectal of brush, and so E.D.D. has the verb to brush as dialect for trimming a tree or hedge. Brush is a difficult homophone, and it would be useful to have one of its derivative meanings separated off as brish.
He stood thus, motionless, while Hedger watched the lavender girl go up the steps and through the door of the house in which he lived. "You're right, my boy, it's she! She might be worse looking, you know." When they mounted to the studio, the new lodger's door, at the back of the hall, was a little ajar, and Hedger caught the warm perfume of lilacs just brought in out of the sun.
This one he called 'The Forty Lovers of the Queen, and it was more or less about rain-making." "Aren't you going to tell it to me?" Eden asked. Hedger fumbled among the radishes. "I don't know if it's the proper kind of story to tell a girl." She smiled; "Oh, forget about that! I've been balloon riding today. I like to hear you talk." Her low voice was flattering.
Lady Carse thought she could not look; but she glanced up now and then, when there was a call from above, or a question from below, or when there was a fling of the rope or a pause in the proceedings. When Rollo at last slid down upon the raft, hauled it to shore, and jumped on the rock beside her, he was as careless as a hedger coming home to breakfast, while she was trembling in every limb.
For the second time that day Hedger crimsoned unexpectedly, and his eyes fell and steadily contemplated a dish of little radishes. "That particular picture I got from a story a Mexican priest told me; he said he found it in an old manuscript book in a monastery down there, written by some Spanish Missionary, who got his stories from the Aztecs.
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