The machine gave forth a crunching, pulpy sound as it disgorged the cut-up mangolds that lay in a juicy mound on the floor, white, rosy pink, and purple. The nearest cow stretched her neck towards it, protruding her tongue, and rolling her liquid, dark eyes.
As they went up the stairs Derek said to his brother: "That fellow, Hugh, is sweet on Phœbe, the girl who was feeding the calves."
"He is a fine-looking fellow. Looks as though he would be a good worker."
"He is. He has only two interests in life—the farm, and Phœbe. I wish you could see her dance. She used to be a hop-picker in the Old Country."
It had grown dark outside. "It is too late to see anything more tonight," said Derek. "Tomorrow morning I shall take you all over the place. We are to have dinner' with the Jerrolds at two, and in the evening I'm giving a party for the 'help.' Phœbe's been begging for one for a month and I thought we might as well have it while you are here."
"By George, I shall dance with Phœbe!"
"Not too often or you will have Hugh after you."
"Are they engaged?"
"I expect so, but he's far too good for her. She's not to be trusted."
"Where is the woman who is?" exclaimed Edmund, cynically.
For the first time since he had come to the farm Derek had a lamp lighted in the drawing-room. Edmund sat down at the old square piano and played with lightness and vigour popular music, and some of Derek's favourites from the operas; Derek lounged on the brocaded sofa and
