"Oh, you are. What else?"
"I'm going to learn to make butter. Mrs. Morris says I have real 'butter hands.' They're so cool. Feel." She laid her hand on his.
"Yes, lovely," said Andrew, fervently: "but don't you think you ought to get well before you do all this? Stick to prophesying for a while. It's easier."
"Oh, if you're going to laugh at me—"
"No, indeed." (Miss Moore's brows were knitted.) "I'm not really, honestly: never thought of such a thing." Then, persuasively, "Don't you want to come and see a bird's nest?"
Miss Moore's attempt at bad temper collapsed.
"I should think I did," she said.
"Come on, then," said he.
"Oh, is it on that side? How do I get over?"
"Let me lift you."