Now and then she stopped to look at Leonard, who was
labouring away with vehement energy at digging over a small plot
of ground, where he meant to prick out some celery plants that
had been given to him. Ruth's heart warmed at the earnest,
spirited way in which he thrust his large spade deep down into
the brown soil his ruddy face glowing, his curly hair wet with
the exertion; and yet she sighed to think that the days were over
when her deeds of skill could give him pleasure. Now, his delight
was in acting himself; last year, not fourteen months ago, he had
watched her making a daisy-chain for him, as if he could not
admire her cleverness enough; this year, this week, when she had
been devoting every spare hour to the simple tailoring which she
performed for her boy (she had always made every article he wore,
and felt almost jealous of the employment), he had come to her
with a wistful look, and asked when he might begin to have
clothes made by a man?
Ever since the Wednesday when she had accompanied Mary and
Elizabeth, at Mrs. Bradshaw's desire, to be measured for spring
clothes by the new Eccleston dress-maker, she had been looking
forward to this Saturday afternoon's pleasure of making summer
trousers for Leonard; but the satisfaction of the employment was
a little taken away by Leonard's speech. It was a sign, however,
that her life was very quiet and peaceful, that she had leisure
to think upon the thing at all; and often she forgot it entirely
in her low, chanting song, or in listening to the thrush warbling
out his afternoon ditty to his patient mate in the holly-bush
below.
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