He was a
malevolent churl too, Hildegarde thought; indeed she was sure of it. She
had several times seen his eyes fixed on his uncle with a look of
positive hatred; and though Farmer Hartley was persistently kind and
patient with him, trying often to draw him into conversation, and make
him join in the pleasant evening talks which they all enjoyed, his
efforts were unsuccessful. The fellow came in, gobbled his food, and
then went off, if his work was over, to hide himself in his own room.
Hilda was quite sure that Nurse Lucy liked this oaf no better than she
herself did, though the good woman never spoke impatiently or unkindly
to him,--and indeed it would be difficult for any one to like him, she
thought, except possibly his own mother.
Our Queen took presently her seat on a right royal throne of fragrant
hay, and gave herself up to the full delight of the summer morning, and
of the "Field of the Cloth of Gold," as she had instantly named the
shining yellow plain, which more prosaic souls knew as "the ten-acre
lot." The hay rustled pleasantly as she nestled down in it, and made a
little penthouse over her head, to keep off the keen, hot sun-arrows.
There was a great oak-tree too, which partly shaded this favored
haycock, and on one of its branches a squirrel came running out, and
then sat up and looked at Hildegarde with bright, inquisitive eyes. A
maiden, all brown and gold, on a golden haycock! What strange apparition
was this? Had she come for acorns? Did she know about the four young
ones in the snug little house in the hollow just above the first branch!
Perhaps--dreadful thought!--she had heard of the marvellous beauty of
the four young ones, and had come to steal them.
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