She twisted her rings and glanced over the farm. There was nobody in sight. A pale feather of smoke rose from a chimney. Pans and churns stood outside the kitchen of a stone house. It was a picture of Holland comfort set in a winding mist.
Fay reached the hay-mow and pointed toward an opening. “Crawl in there,� he said. “I’ll find another suite. Wake me when you wake. I must have sleep.�
She laughed almost hysterically. “With these rings?� she asked turning toward the farm-house. “Are we safe?�
“In Holland, yes,â€� yawned Fay, covering his mouth with his right hand. “They don’t lock the doors in this country—an old crook told me who ought to know. Good-night, Saidee!â€�
He stooped, patted the dog, then rounded the hay-mow. There was a second opening which had evidently been made by cattle feeding. There were marks of hoofs about it. Fay crawled within the hay, rolled over, covered his face with his arm and started reviewing the events of the day. He dozed with half-thoughts trooping through his brain. He woke, hours later, turned on his side, listened, then backed out from his cramped position. The mist had cleared. The stars were out. A light shone in the farm-house window. The dog was still on guard.
Fay rubbed his eyes and rounded the hay-mow.
Saidee Isaacs’s shoes were all he saw at first. He seized a foot and shook it gently. She squirmed out to him, sat erect, then glanced back toward the opening.
“Get my hat,� she said. “I hope you’re satisfied,� she added hotly. “I didn’t sleep a wink. I waited for you all afternoon.�
“Like a good pal,� he smiled.
“No—like a fool!â€�