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Updated: June 13, 2025
Kirsteen was washing breakfast things which had a leadless glaze, and Tryst's three children, extremely tidy, stood motionless at the edge of the little scullery, watching. When she had joined him in the kitchen Tod shut the door. "Two policemen," he said, "want Tryst. Are they to have him?"
Felix saw Kirsteen quiver and flinch, and understood why they had none of them felt quite able to turn their backs on that display of passion. Something deep and unreasoning was on the boy's side; something that would not fit with common sense and the habits of civilized society; something from an Arab's tent or a Highland glen. Then Tod came up behind and put his hands on his son's shoulders.
And still his lips smiled that faint smile, and his opened eyes grew dark and darker with meaning. So at midnight Kirsteen found them. In the early hours of his all-night sitting Felix had first only memories, and then Kirsteen for companion. "I worry most about Tod," she said. "He had that look in his face when he went off from Marrow Farm. He might do something terrible if they ill-treat Sheila.
There's simplicity about his scorn, and he seems to have been brought up on facts, not on literature, like most of these young monkeys. The cousinship I don't think matters; Kirsteen brings in too strong an out-strain. He's HER son, not Tod's. But perhaps," he added, sighing, "it won't last." Flora shook her head. "It will last!" she said; "Nedda's deep."
Then none of them seemed to know quite what to say, or where to look, till Frances Freeland, her face all pleased and anxious, came in. When she had kissed them they all sat down. And Nedda, at the window, squeezed her hands tight together in her lap. "We've come about Derek," John said. "Yes," broke in Stanley. "For goodness' sake, Kirsteen, don't let's have any more of this!
In a corner of the orchard a little bonfire had been lighted, and round it he could see the three small Trysts dropping armfuls of leaves and pointing at the flames leaping out of the smoulder. There, too, was Tod's big figure, motionless, and his dog sitting on its haunches, with head poked forward, staring at those red tongues of flame. Kirsteen had come with him to the wicket gate.
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