"He'll see the door open. He'll come in. He'll find us here."
"He wawn't."
But Jim shut the door.
"We're saafe enoof. But 'tis naw plaace for yo. Yo'll mook yore lil feet. Staay there—where yo are—tell I tall yo."
He groped his way in the half darkness up the hay loft stair. She heard his foot going heavily on the floor over her head.
He drew back the bolt and pushed open the door in the high wall. The sunlight flooded the loft; it streamed down the stair. The dust danced in it.
Jim stood on the stair. He smiled down at Alice where she waited below.
"Coom oop into t' haay loft, Ally."
He stooped. He held out his hand and she climbed to him up the stair.
They sat there on the floor of the loft, silent, in the attitude of children who crouch hiding in their play. He had strewn for her a carpet of the soft, sweet hay and piled it into cushions.