A slight frost had hardened the mud of the yard and above St. Cadic Mill the December sun had risen into a sky of little far-off clouds. Between the shafts of the wagon stood Lady, the young mare, glad to exchange the warm dark stable for the adventure of the public road. Jim Rosevear, in well-brushed clothes and with a tie that matched the blue of his eyes, was fastening the last buckle as Gray came out, with a basket of eggs and butter in one hand and her bag in the other. A larger basket, containing poultry, was already in place and, beside it, lay a piece of broken mechanism which was to be left at the smithy. As the girlish figure stepped out of the dark house Leadville, who, with frowning brow, had been watching the preparations, came forward. Gray had a momentary qualm; but saw with relief that he had not made any change in his dress. In old clothes and without a collar even Leadville, though he set many conventions at defiance, would not think of going to Stowe.
"Hullo!" said he, "what be yer gwine do wi' that bag?"
"I'm going to stay home to-night."
"'Ome? This is yer 'ome 'ere."
"Well, I'm going to stay to mammy's for a change," she spoke lightly, willing to placate him and hasten her escape.
"I think you ought to 'av ask me if you can stay 'ome or no." He had stepped between her and the wagon; and his eyes had the smouldering light which she had learnt to dread.
With her heart fluttering, she controlled her voice to a pleasant, "Well, what is there to hinder me?"
Her docility appeased him. After all she was only going to the butter market.
"Well, can I? Can I stay to mammy's?" asked the singing voice with its rising inflexion on the last word.
"I s'pose you can," he said reluctantly. "You can go if you'm a good maid and bring me back something."