Sophia had carried home the milk of two cows and returned before anyone of the slightest consequence passed by.

She was just starting with two more pails when Alec Trenholme came along at a fast trot on his brother's handsome cob.

He was close by her before she had time to see who it was, and when he drew up his horse she felt strangely annoyed.

Instinct told her that, while others might have criticised, this simple-hearted fellow would only compassionate her toil.

Their mutual adventure of the previous evening had so far established a sense of comradeship with him that she did not take refuge in indifference, but felt her vanity hurt at his pity.
At that moment the simple iron semi-circle which the milk maid used to hold her pails off her skirts, became, with Sophia's handling, the most complex thing, and would in no wise adjust itself.