He was digging with the long spike of his rod, and I heard the rattle of each pebble that he struck.
Before he stood up again, to ease his back and to look at the ground which he still had to turn, I was kneeling behind a short, close-branched holly, the very last bush of the hedge-row, scarcely fifteen yards from the hawthorn-tree.

It was quite impossible to get nearer without coming face to face with him.

And now I began again to tremble, but with a great effort conquered it.
The man was panting with his labor, and seemed to be in a vile temper too.

He did not swear, but made low noises full of disappointment.

And then he caught up his tool, with a savage self-control, and fell to again.
Now was my time to see what he was like, and engrave him on my memory.
But, lo! in a moment I need not do that.