At once a pleasing fragrance reached her nostrils—Nature’s own perfume, the smell of new cut clover hay. Jeanne knew that glorious perfume. More than once as a gypsy she had slept within the shadow of a haystack.
Next instant, with breath coming short and quick, she was climbing a narrow ladder leading to the loft. At its top she tumbled into the welcoming billows of sweet smelling hay.
Creeping far back, she burrowed like a rat and was soon quite lost from sight.
“Never find me here,” she whispered.
She listened. The silence was complete. Then she caught a low, rustling sound.
“Mice in this hay!” She shuddered. She hated mice; yet nothing could induce her to give up this place of hiding.
From far below she heard Hugo call again:
“Here! Where are you?”
A moment later, through the broad cracks of the barn wall she caught a gleam of light, then heard their sharp exclamations upon discovering that she was gone.
“What will they do?” she asked herself. “Will they finally become angry and demolish my plane? My so beautiful dragon fly!” She was ready to weep.