She stooped, and her great arms sent the loose stalks flying in every direction. Desmond and Jim sat up and looked at her in silence.
“You don’t seem to want to be killed,” Desmond said. “But assuredly you will be, if you raise an alarm.”
The girl laughed.
“I could have done that all day, if I had wished,” she said. “Ever since I saw you run in when I put up my window this morning.”
“Well—what do you want? Money?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I do not want anything. I was brought up in England, and I think this is a silly war. There is a bucket of milk for you downstairs; it will come up if one of you will pull the string you will find tied to the top of the ladder.” She laughed. “If I go to get it you will think I am going to call for help.”
Jim was beyond prudence at the moment. He took three strides to the ladder, found the cord, and pulled up a small bucket, three parts full of new milk. The girl sat down on an empty oil-drum and watched them drink.
“So! You are thirsty, indeed,” she said. “Now I have food.”
She unearthed from a huge pocket a package of bread and sausage.
“Now you can eat. It is quite safe, and you could not leave yet; my uncle is still wandering about. He is like most men; they wander about and are very busy, but they never do any work. I run the farm, and get no wages, either. But in England I got wages. In Clapham. That is the place of all others which I prefer.”