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It was necessary to find in Italy the money for that war and for the future defence of that country; but Italy had been ruined by the Gothic war and above all things needed capital and a period of reproductive repose. These Justinian was unable to give her. His necessities forced him to cover the peninsula with tax gatherers, to bleed an already ruined country of the little that remained to her.
But on the railroad tracks Virginia saw a man standing with his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "What'd you want of Lafe Grandoken?" asked the fellow in reply to her question. "I've come to see him," answered Jinnie evasively. "He's a cobbler and lives down with the shortwood gatherers there on Paradise Road. Littlest shack of the bunch! He ain't far from my folks. My name's Maudlin Bates."
The strange taste of the fruit enhanced her sense of adventure, she tried to imagine herself among the gatherers in the grove; she glanced at the young man to perceive that he was tall and well formed, with remarkably expressive eyes almost the colour of the olives themselves.
Oh, please do!" she ended, with a sudden drop in her manner, her voice choking. Seasoned news gatherers though they were they could not repress all sign of the gratification they felt at her words. They loosed a battery of questions upon the two young women, but soon discovered upon what a slender basis Miss Annister had based her theory.
Theodore would let no grass grow under his feet. He would marry her offhand, and educate her afterwards. Jordan wondered vaguely if the Jewish cobbler had an enemy among the shortwood gatherers. If so, and the man could be found, it would bring his own salvation.
She supposed that she might be able to stand in front of Cornell University with placards advocating that human beings go back to being the hunters and gatherers from whence they came. She could stand there like a madwoman denouncing the past 7000-10,000 years. Nothing would come out of it but 12 hours of sitting in a jailhouse and then paying a fine.
"Wreckwood, eh?" "A good amount of it ought to be comin' in, after the gale." "Then where's your hook?" for the wreckwood gatherers along this part of the coast carry long gaffs to hook the flotsam and drag it above reach of the waves. "Left it up the bank," said the old man shortly.
Sometimes he would row with frantic speed, free and joyous, through the glowing sunlight on the stream; sometimes, he would wander along the coast, questioning the sailors, chatting with the ravageurs, or junk gatherers, or stretched at full length amid the irises and tansy he would lie for hours watching the frail insects that play on the surface of the stream, water spiders, or white butterflies, dragon flies, chasing each other amid the willow leaves, or frogs asleep on the lily-pads.
We hear ourselves laughing now, intent, for instance, on confirming the almond and cucumber in bruised bracken, or catch the sound of our serious voices raised in a dispute over literature or politics. But these things are not really in our minds. We would not betray our secret thoughts to bluebell gatherers and boys snuffing the bracken.
A drop of cold rain had fallen against her face. The clouds had drawn together sulkily above them. Across the intervening turf hastened the mushroom gatherers, their baskets full of the brown and white trophies. Craig picked up his pipe. "Good-bye," he said, with a caress. "I'll come over to-morrow and tell you the final news."
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