She pricked the needle through the muslin in her hand.
“There was the fence,” she said.
“Climb over!” He had taken a pipe from his pocket.
She reached out her hand. “Not before dinner!” decisively. “You’ll spoil your appetite!” She captured the pipe.
“Oh, very well!” He leaned against the tree and watched her.
She was folding her sewing neatly. “I should never have climbed over!” She pinned the work together in a compact roll and nodded to him.
“You could have gone round—” he said with a teasing note.
“You know what I mean, Dick! I shouldn’t have wanted to sit under a tree that did not belong to us—and that belonged to the Martins or to the Suttons, or to anybody—and not in our own yard—nobody would!”
“Funny idea!” said Dick slowly. “Same tree, same place, just Ours!”
She smiled at him. “Help me up! It’s time for dinner.”