happy?"

She looked at him with her head on one side.

"Not here," she said. "I can't trust that harrow."

His eyelids narrowed over his eyes--then relaxed. No, she was merely
playing at enchanted harrows.

"Are you cold still?" he asked, and reached for her hand. She gave it
frankly.

"Not a bit," she said, and took it away again. "The run warmed me. In
fact--"

She unbuttoned the mackintosh and spread it on the bar of the plough
and sat down. Her white dress lighted up the shadows of the shed.
Outside the rain fell steadily.

"May I sit down too? Can Mrs. Plough find room for two children on her
lap?"

She drew aside the folds of her dress, but even then only a little
space was left. The plough had been carelessly housed and nearly half
of it was where the rain drove in on it. So that they were very close
together.

So close that he had to throw his head back to see clearly how the
rain had made the short hair curl round her forehead and ears, and how
fresh were the tints of face and lips. Also he had to support himself