"But you can't," said Milly; "you're the wrong side, you see."
"I on't be there long, then," replied Geo, measuring the distance with his eye. "Yew git out a' the way, and I'll soon be alongside a' yew."
"You're never going to jump?" began Milly, with round eyes of surprise. As she moved aside, but before the sentence was finished, Geo had sprung across.
It was not much of a jump—nine feet or so—but Geo had not attempted anything so athletic for many a long day, and it was not surprising that he landed somewhat ungracefully on all fours, and was rather breathless when he picked himself up, only to sit down again very promptly and wipe his brow with a blue-and-white handkerchief.
Milly stood looking at him with surprise.
"Have you hurt yourself?" she ventured, after a minute.
"No, no, thank ye, only a bit shook; the ground is hard."
"That it is," said Milly—"like iron. If only the rain would come, what a good job that would be!"
"That would indeed! But we've got water to drink at last—leastways we shall have when the wells are dug."
"How are they getting on with them?" asked Milly, forgetful of her morning's work for the moment.