“Policeman never take baby boys like Jimmy. Never!” said Elizabeth quickly.
Sally said nothing—that policeman was a secret part of her life—and she felt vaguely that Elizabeth knew nothing of the realities of existence.
But, queerly enough, she was happier than most children can be, as she plodded up the sand-hills to her mother with no less a sum than three and ninepence halfpenny in her handkerchief.
Andy and Elizabeth watched her for a moment, and then turned towards a gap in the sand-hills whence a road ran into the open country.
“This way seems pleasanter,” said Andy.
“The sands are rather heavy,” agreed Elizabeth.
And thus fortified they walked rather quickly until they reached a turning where a great sheet of mustard-seed in flower stretched, pure blazing yellow, beneath a cloudless blue.
It was like an unexecuted flare of silver trumpets on a still and joyous day, and Andy felt the sudden, triumphant exhilaration of it.
“Elizabeth——” he began—face shining—eyes alight.
Then the aunt and cousins who were not expected in Marshaven until the following week came round the corner, and the Vicar of Gaythorpe used an expression in the presence of the lady he adored which, one second earlier, he would have deemed himself absolutely incapable of using in the presence of any lady at all. “I beg your pardon,” he added hastily.