But he had turned
away, and gone back in offended dignity to the house. Maggie had nothing to
do but return to the well, and fill it again. The spring was some distance
off, in a little rocky dell. It was so cool after her hot walk, that she
sat down in the shadow of the gray limestone rock, and looked at the ferns,
wet with the dripping water. She felt sad, she knew not why. "I think
Ned is sometimes very cross," thought she. "I did not understand he was
carrying it there. Perhaps I am clumsy. Mamma says I am; and Ned says I
am. Nancy never says so and papa never said so. I wish I could help being
clumsy and stupid. Ned says all women are so. I wish I was not a woman. It
must be a fine thing to be a man. Oh dear! I must go up the field again
with this heavy pitcher, and my arms do so ache!" She rose and climbed the
steep brae. As she went she heard her mother's voice.
"Maggie! Maggie! there's no water for dinner, and the potatoes are quite
boiled. Where _is_ that child?"
They had begun dinner, before she came down from brushing her hair and
washing her hands. She was hurried and tired.
"Mother," said Ned, "mayn't I have some butter to these potatoes, as there
is cold meat? They are so dry."
"Certainly, my dear. Maggie, go and fetch a pat of butter out of the
dairy."
Maggie went from her untouched dinner without speaking.
"Here, stop, you child!" said Nancy, turning her back in the passage.
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