"I am grateful, Mrs. Cameron," he said.
She smiled to think that he knew her name.
"You are—"
"Daniel Farrel," he said.
When they went out of doors Lass was standing deserted, with her nose over the water-butt. There was no sight or sound of Davey or Deirdre. Her father called; and presently she came racing round the corner of the house, hair flying, and eyes bright with mischief and laughter.
Davey followed at a breakneck pace. His collar was twisted and a jagged three-cornered tear showed in his grey trousers. The girl flew to her father. Davey came to a standstill sheepishly, a few yards from his mother.
"What have you been doing, Deirdre?" Farrel asked.
"Showing him the ring-tail 'possum's nest in the tree at the back of the cow-yard," she said eagerly. "He couldn't climb because his trousers were too tight, and I raced him up the hill."
"She's a wild thing—has never had anybody but me to look after her," he said to Mrs. Cameron, the black head under his hand.
"Her mother's dead?" Mrs. Cameron asked gently.