Shiel forced a laugh. "I'm rather out of form, Miss Martin, I haven't
had much exercise lately."
"You're getting it now anyway," John Martin chuckled.
"And it's blistered your hands horribly!" Gladys cried, pointing to
several raw places. "I will fetch you a pair of father's gloves--he's
a brute!"
"Please don't trouble," Shiel exclaimed, "I'll use my handkerchief
instead. Digging is even harder work than painting--in one way."
"It's not fit work for you," Gladys replied with another reproachful
glance at her father. "When did you arrive, I never heard you?"
"I 'phoned to him last night," John Martin said, looking rather
sheepish. "I thought a day out here would do him good. He thought so
too, and came on by the seven o'clock train. We've been digging ever
since breakfast--but a bit of exercise won't hurt him, and I'll give
him plenty of vaseline presently."
They resumed work again; and Gladys retired indoors. At eleven o'clock
John Martin let Shiel go. "You can amuse yourself till luncheon with
books and papers," he said, "you'll find plenty of them in my study.
I'll join you later."
But Shiel had other ideas of amusing himself, and as soon as he had
washed and changed back into his own clothes, he followed the sounds
of music until he reached the drawing-room.
"I'm sure you must feel dreadfully tired," Gladys said, leaving off
playing. "It was too bad of Father to make you work like that.
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