withal a sickly sense of comfort, as of the sun shining dimly through mist.
As though aware of the presence of concentrated emotion, the horse ceased cropping, raised his head, and looked startled. Pheasant went to him and took the bridle in her hand. "He's getting a bit restless," she said. "And I must go. I promised not to be long away."
They walked along the path together, Pheasant leading the horse. In the potato field the old man was leaning on his hoe, gazing pensively down on the strong plants as though in deep thought.
"What are you dreaming about, Binns?" called out Pheasant.
"Bugs is here," he answered, and fell again into thought.
The horse's hoofs sounded indolently on the firm, moist path. Overhead a network of bird song was being woven, in intricate, ever-changing pattern.
"How idle the old man is!" said Alayne.
"There is a psychological reason for that." Pheasant assumed her sagacious look. "It's because the fields are scattered, far apart, among the woods. It makes a man lazy to see the woods all about him. Noah Binns isn't earning his salt to-day." Looking back over her shoulder, she called: "Wake up, Noah!"
"Bugs is here," answered the old man, not raising his head.
When they entered the pine wood they met Minny Ware, pushing a perambulator in which sat Meg's infant, Patience. Minny wore a very short dress of vivid green, and a wide, drooping hat, fit for a garden party.
"Oh, hallo," she exclaimed, with her London accent. "The fashionable world goes a-walking, eh?" She turned, tilting the perambulator on its back wheels and surveying Alayne from under the brim of her hat.
"How do you like the weather?" she asked. "Glorious, eh? I've never seen so much sunshine in all my life."
"At Fiddler's Hut the foliage is too dense. We don't
