“I know Swinset tarn,” said Alison. “Whinnyates is four or five miles off across the moor. But take your coffee. And you might give me the fruit can.”
Kit took the coffee and began his lunch, but after a time Alison looked up.
“You have stayed for a holiday at Netherdale?”
“That is so. In summer, Netherdale’s an attractive spot.”
“Were you at the post office? Mrs. Grey takes boarders.”
Kit hesitated. He did not want to say he was at Netherhall; for one thing, he believed his relations had done with him. Then Mrs. Carson was an important lady, and he would sooner Alison did not know Alan was his uncle.
“I stopped farther up the valley. You see, I wanted to get on the moors, and at the dalehead the fishing’s good.”
Alison gave him a queer look, and he wondered whether she knew Alan Carson preserved the fishing.
“When you were at Whinnyates I suppose you went to Netherdale village?” he said.
“For a time I was teacher at the school. To cross the moor was awkward, and in winter my pony could not face the storms. Then the pay was small and I was ambitious, but sometimes at the office I wanted to be back. Perhaps my habit is to undertake too big a job.”