MEANWHILE Ursula had wandered on from Willey Water along the course of the bright little stream. The afternoon was full of larks' singing. On the bright hill-sides was a subdued smoulder of gorse. A few forget-me-nots flowered by the water. There was a rousedness and a glancing everywhere.
She strayed absorbedly on, over the brooks. She wanted to go to the mill-pond above. The big mill- house was deserted, save for a labourer and his wife who lived in the kitchen. So she passed through the empty farm-yard and through the wilderness of a garden, and mounted the bank by the sluice. When she got to the top, to see the old, velvety surface of the pond before her, she noticed a man on the bank, tinkering with a punt. It was Birkin sawing and hammering away.
She stood at the head of the sluice, looking at him. He was unaware of anybody's presence. He looked very busy, like a wild animal, active and intent. She felt she ought to go away, he would not want her. He seemed to be so much occupied. But she did not want to go away. Therefore she moved along the bank till he would look up.
Which he soon did. The moment he saw her, he dropped his tools and came forward, saying:
`How do you do? I'm making the punt water-tight. Tell me if you think it is right.'
She went along with him.
`You are your father's daughter, so you can tell me if it will do,' he said.
She bent to look at the patched punt.
`I am sure I am my father's daughter,' she said, fearful of having to judge. `But I don't know anything about carpentry. It looks right, don't you think?'
`Yes, I think. I hope it won't let me to the bottom, that's all. Though even so, it isn't a great matter, I should come up again. Help me to get it into the water, will you?'
With combined efforts they turned over the heavy punt and set it afloat.
`Now,' he said, `I'll try it and you can watch what happens. Then if it carries, I'll take you over to the island.'
`Do,' she cried, watching anxiously.
The pond was large, and had that perfect stillness and the dark lustre of very deep water. There were two small islands overgrown with bushes and a few trees, towards the middle. Birkin pushed himself off, and veered clumsily in the pond. Luckily the punt drifted so that he could catch hold of a willow bough, and pull it to the island.
`Rather overgrown,' he said, looking into the interior, `but very nice. I'll come and fetch you. The boat leaks a little.'
In a moment he was with her again, and she stepped into the wet punt.
`It'll float us all right,' he said, and manoeuvred again to the island.
They landed under a willow tree. She shrank from the little jungle of rank plants before her, evil-smelling figwort and hemlock. But he explored into it.
`I shall mow this down,' he said, `and then it will be romantic -- like Paul et Virginie.'
`Yes, one could have lovely Watteau picnics here,' cried Ursula with enthusiasm.
His face darkened.
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