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“What–oh, thair!”

“Aye, th’ ladder’s there, right enough.”

“You said it had fall down.”

“Well, I heard it drop–an’ I couldna feel it nor see it.”

“You said it had fall down–you lie, you liar.”

“Nay, as true as I’m here–“

“You tell me lies–make me stay here–you tell me lies–” She was passionately indignant.

“As true as I’m standing here–” he began.

“Lies!–lies!–lies!” she cried.”I don’t believe you, never. You mean,you mean, mean, mean!”

“A’ raïght, then!” he was now incensed, in his turn.

“You are bad, mean, mean, mean.”

“Are yer commin’ down?” asked Maurice, coldly.

“No–I will not come with you–mean, to tell me lies.”

“Are ter commin’ down?”

“No, I don’t want you.”

“A’
raïght, then!”

Geoffrey, peering through the holly tree, saw Maurice negotiating the ladder. The top rung was below the brim of the stack, and rested on the cloth, so it was dangerous to approach. The Fräulein watched him from the end of the stack, where the cloth thrown back showed the light, dry hay. He slipped slightly, she screamed. When he had got on to the ladder, he pulled the cloth away, throwing it back, making it easy for her to descend.

“Now are ter comin’?” he asked.

“No!” she shook her head violently, in a pet.

Geoffrey felt slightly contemptuous of her. But Maurice waited.

“Are ter comin’?” he called again.

“No,” she flashed, like a wild cat.

“All right, then I’m going.”

He descended. At the bottom, he stood holding the ladder.

“Come on, while I hold it steady,” he said.

There was no reply. For some minutes he stood patiently with his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. He was pale, rather washed-out in his appearance, and he drew himself together with cold.

“Are ter commin’, or aren’t ter?” he asked at length. Still there was no reply.

“Then stop up till tha’rt ready,” he muttered, and he went away. Round the other side of the stacks he met Geoffrey.

“What, are thaïgh here?” he exclaimed.

“Bin here a’ naïght,” replied Geoffrey.”I come to help thee wi’ th’ cloth, but I found it on, an’ th’ ladder down, so I thowt tha’d gone.”

“Did ter put th’ ladder up?”

“I did a bit sin.”

Maurice brooded over this, Geoffrey struggled with himself to get out his own news. At last he blurted:

“Tha knows that woman as wor here yis’day dinner–‘er come back, an’ stopped i’ th’ shed a’ night, out o’ th’ rain.”

“Oh–ah!” said Maurice, his eye kindling, and a smile crossing his pallor.

“An’ I s’ll gi’e her some breakfast.”

“Oh–ah!” repeated Maurice.

“It’s th’ man as is good-for-nowt, not her,” protested Geoffrey. Maurice did not feel in a position to cast stones.

“Tha pleases thysen,” he said, “what ter does.” He was very quiet, unlike himself. He seemed bothered and anxious, as Geoffrey had not seen him before.

“What’s up wi’ thee?” asked the elder brother, who in his own heart was glad, and relieved.

“Nowt,” was the reply.

They went together to the hut. The woman was folding the blanket. She was fresh from washing, and looked very pretty. Her hair, instead of being screwed tightly back, was coiled in a knot low down, partly covering her ears. Before, she had deliberately made herself plain-looking: now she was neat and pretty, with a sweet, womanly gravity.

“Hello. I didn’t think to find you here,” said Maurice, very awkwardly, smiling. She watched him gravely without reply.”But it was better in shelter than outside, last night,” he added.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Shall you get a few more sticks?” Geoffrey asked him. It was a new thing for Geoffrey to be leader. Maurice obeyed. He wandered forth into the damp, raw morning. He did not go to the stack, as he shrank from meeting Paula.

At the mouth of the hut, Geoffrey was making the fire. The woman got out coffee from the box: Geoffrey set the tin to boil. They were arranging breakfast when Paula appeared. She was hatless. Bits of hay stuck in her hair, and she was white-faced–altogether, she did not show to advantage.

“Ah–you!” she exclaimed, seeing Geoffrey.

“Hello!” he answered.”You’re out early.”

“Where’s Maurice?”

“I dunno, he should be back directly.”

Paula was silent.

“When have you come?” she asked.

“I come last night, but I could see nobody about. I got up half an hour sin’, an’ put th’ ladder up ready to take the stack-cloth up.”

Paula understood, and was silent. When Maurice returned with the faggots, she was crouched warming her hands. She looked up at him, but he kept his eyes averted from her. Geoffrey met the eyes of Lydia, and smiled. Maurice put his hands to the fire.

“You cold?” asked Paula tenderly.

“A bit,” he answered, quite friendly, but reserved. And all the while the four sat round the fire, drinking their smoked coffee, eating each a small piece of toasted bacon, Paula watched eagerly for the eyes of Maurice, and he avoided her. He was gentle, but would not give his eyes to her looks. And Geoffrey smiled constantly to Lydia, who watched gravely.

The German girl succeeded in getting safely into the Vicarage, her escapade unknown to anyone save the housemaid. Before a week was out, she was openly engaged to Maurice, and when her month’s notice expired, she went to live at the farm.

Geoffrey and Lydia kept faith one with the other.