boy, the lack of which had shocked him in Phoebe. He knew Ishmael had
a horror of blood and disagreeable sights, and the thought of how often
the boy would have to encounter them struck at his heart.

"I won't see it," said Ishmael, pressing himself back against the house
wall; "I won't see where no pig was killed." Then, afraid lest Phoebe
should taunt him with his fear: "But I'll come and see the pigs, though
I don't s'pose they're as fine as ours. They were ringed yesterday was a
week, and even the piggy-widden's bigger than most pigs."

"Ours is bigger, ours is bigger!" cried Phoebe indignantly, "and you'm
nawthen but a gëat coward, Ishmael Ruan. I don't want _my_ pigs to set
eyes on 'ee!"

She sauntered away across the yard, but turned her head as she reached
the far end, and glanced back at Ishmael. He hesitated, pride fighting
with longing; then he also began to saunter--aimlessly at first; then,
giving up the struggle, he frankly followed her. Lenine chuckled softly.

"Talk o' the way o' a man wi' a maid--'tes nawthen to the way o' a maid
wi' a man, is it, Passon? She'll be one for the chaps, she will!"

Boase assented, laughing, then his eyes saddened, as he watched the two
little figures, side by side now, disappear round the corner of the
pig-styes. It suddenly struck him as rather horrible that anything so
innocent as Ishmael still was should develop into a man, even a healthy,
clean-living man; such a pity that the instinct that was the cause of
charming play with Phoebe should ever become desire. It was a feeling
that a mother might have had, and Boase smiled at it even as he gave a
sigh to the pity of inexorable things.