At  the  entrance  of  the  barn  she  paused  and
stood  looking  in  at  the  picture  which  the  door
way  framed.  Leaning  against  the  rough  wall
stood  Romney,  his  fingers  idly  sweeping  the
strings  of  a  lute,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon
Peggy  as  she  sat  by  the  flax-wheel  in  the  corner.
Her  little  foot  pressed  the  treadle,  her  round  arms

300


The  Rolling  Year

swayed  this  way  and  that  with  the  moving  skein,
and  her  supple  fingers  hovered  over  distaft  and
spindle.
The  last  year  had  left  time's  mark  on  the
young  man.  In  youth  these  marks  are  generally
an  improvement,  and  before  thirty,  the  years  add
more  than  they  take  away.  It  was  hard  to  define
the  change  which  the  passing  months  had  brought
to  Romney,  but  where  a  year  ago  the  passing
stranger  saw  the  lingering  boyhood,  to-day  he
marked  the  coming  manhood.  The  mouth  shut
closer,  the  brows  drew  a  little  together  as  if  set
in  a  purpose  known  only  to  themselves.  If  the
smile  were  rarer,  it  was  also  sweeter,  for  it  had
learned  to  show  itself  only  when  another  smile
appeared  to  call  it  forth.  Just  now  it  was  playing
freely  about  his  lips  as  he  watched  the  figure  at
the  wheel.
When  two  are  alone  together,  and  a  third  is
present,  his  name  is  Love.  Peggy's  mood  was
merry,  and  her  mouth  had  lost  for  the  time  the
wistful  sadness  that  had  hung  round  it  ever  since
her  coming  to  Virginia.  Now  it  curved  into  the
old-time  dimples  at  the  corner  as  she  tossed  back
and 'forth  the  refrain  of  an  old  song  of  which
Romney,  in  teasing  humor,  had  begun  the  first
verse.  He  sang  to  the  music  of  his  lute  and  she
to  the  accompaniment  of  her  whirring  wheel.
