"You beat me there, son. She still puts the fear of God in me. If I'm half an hour late getting home from market I creep up the lane with my tail down like I was a sheep-stealer."
Miss Hassell said nothing, but Brat thought there was a new interest in her glance; almost as if she were pleased with him. And she went away and fetched some shortbread from the kitchen which she had obviously had no intention of producing before.
They drank a liquid called White Port Wine Type, and discussed Rhode Island Reds.
At Upacres there was only plump Mrs. Docket, and she was busy making butter in the dairy at the back.
"Come in, whoever you are!" she called, and they went down the cool tiled passage from the open front door, and turned into the chill of the dairy.
"I can't stop this," she said, looking round at them. "The butter is just — Oh, goodness, I didn't know! I just thought it was someone passing. The children are all at school and Carrie is out in the barn and — Goodness! To think of it!"
Bee automatically took her place at the churn while she shook hands with Brat.
"Well, well," said kind plump Mrs. Docket, "a fine, good-looking Ashby you are. You're more like Mr. Simon than ever you were."
Brat thought that Bee looked up with interest when she said that.
"It's a happy day for us all, Miss Ashby, isn't it? I could hardly believe it. I just said to Joe, I don't believe it, I said. It's the kind of thing that happens in books. And in pictures and plays. Not the kind of thing that would happen to quiet folk like us in a quiet place like Clare, I said. And yet here you are and it's really happened. My, Mr. Patrick, it's nice to see you again, and looking so well and bonny."