KIT TELLS A STORY

The rain stopped at night, the next day was fine, and in the afternoon Kit went up the dale to look at the mended dyke.  It had stood better than he had thought, the beck was falling, and Osborn’s fields were safe until another flood came down.  Kit did not know if he was pleased or not.  There was some satisfaction in feeling that he had done a good job, but he did not think Osborn deserved the help his neighbors had given.  Following the dyke until he came to the road, he sat down on the bridge and lighted his pipe.

The sun was hot and he was glad of the shade of a big alder whose leaves rustled languidly overhead.  The bent-grass on the hillside shone a warm yellow, wet rocks glittered like silver in the strong light, and the higher slopes, where belts of green moss checkered the heather, were streaked by lines of snowy foam.  All was very quiet, except for the noise of running water and the joyous notes of a lark.  Kit was not much of a philosopher; action was easier to him than abstract thought, but he vaguely felt that the serenity of the dale was marred by human passion.  Man was, no doubt, meant to struggle, but Nature was his proper antagonist, and while the fight against floods and snow was bracing, one gained nothing by shabby quarrels that sprang from pride and greed.

Kit was human, however, and owned that he had felt savage when he read Osborn’s note.  The fellow had meant to humiliate him, and he got hot again as he thought about it.  Moreover, Osborn had, so to speak, for his sake, insulted the men he had persuaded to help.  They had not worked for wages, when they fought the swollen beck, and some kindly acknowledgment, such as a supper at the hall, would have gone far to gain for Osborn a good will that money could not buy.  Anyhow, since he offered pay, the sum ought to have been a just reward for their toil.

Osborn had been led by personal rancor, and there was no use in Kit’s pretending he did not resent it.  The fellow seemed to think he had a right to command, and got savage when people would not obey.  Kit felt he had done nothing to deserve his hatred, but since Osborn did hate him, he must brace himself for a struggle, and he meant to win.  Then, as he knocked out his pipe, he saw Grace.

For a few moments Kit hesitated.  If Grace knew how Osborn had rewarded him, the meeting might be awkward, but there was nothing to be gained by putting it off.  He meant to marry Grace, whether Osborn approved or not, and to some extent frankness was needful.  He waited until she reached the bridge and got up when she stopped.  There was some color in her face, but she gave him a steady look.

“I have been to see the mended dyke,” she said, and he knew that she had pluck.

“It’s a rough job.  There was no time to finish it neatly.”

“I’m surprised you were able to finish it at all.”

“I mustn’t claim all the credit,” Kit rejoined, smiling.  “There were a number of others as well as the Tarnside men.”