“Is there much furze here, Kitty?” he asked in a smothered voice.
“Oh no! only just under foot.”
“No great heap in a corner?”
“None, uncle.”
“Not enough to cover you over if you were asleep.”
Kate laughed and answered, “I would never lie on furze if I could help it, and be covered with it—I should be tormented with prickles. I sat down and laid my head against the hedge that makes the back of the linhay.” He was prodding the bedding of furze with his whip. “It is all fresh,” said Kate. “I reckon Miller Ash is going to turn his cow in here, when he has taken away her calf.”
“Ah! she has calved?”
“Yes; last week.”
“True—the cow will be here to-morrow, or in a couple of days.” To himself he muttered, “It won’t do”—then aloud, “Jump into the cart, Kitty. We must push on. You drive out, I will open the gate.”
In another minute Pasco Pepperill was in his seat with Kitty at his side, driving in the direction away from the Cellars.