“ Here’s a bit of new-mown hay,” he said; then, again, he brought her forget-me-nots. And, again, his heart hurt with love, seeing her hand, used with work, holding the little bunch of flowers he gave her. She was perfectly happy.
But at the end of the riding was a fence to climb. Paul was over in a second.
“ Come,” he said, “let me help you.”
“ No, go away. I will do it in my own way.”
He stood below with his hands up ready to help her. She climbed cautiously.
“ What a way to climb!” he exclaimed scornfully, when she was safely to earth again.
“ Hateful stiles!” she cried.
“ Duffer of a little woman,” he replied, “who can’t get over ’em.”
In front, along the edge of the wood, was a cluster of low red farm buildings. The two hastened forward. Flush with the wood was the apple
