"You'd better give Lass a drink, Davey," she called. "I'll be back presently."
The room she stepped into was kept with an attempt at orderliness. It was bare and cleanly. The dull afternoon sunshine garnished its bare walls, the rough chairs and the bunks against the wall. The man had followed her into the room and now faced her. There was a suspension of the breath in his nostrils as this quiet, grey-clad woman lifted her eyes to his.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.
People passed and repassed the room, feet dragged, curious glances strayed into it.
"If you recognise us—give us away—the game's up," he muttered.
"I understand," Mrs. Cameron said.
"Steve made some money on the fields," he said. "He bought this place and Deirdre and I came with him to see him settled. Deirdre—the child you saw outside—belongs to me."
"It's about her I came," Mrs. Cameron explained hurriedly, glad to leave the ground of troubled memory.
She described the scheme for getting a school in the district, building a room somewhere on the roadside, at a point where it could be reached by children of the scattered clearings.
"Who's to be the teacher?" he asked.