“Eh well!” he said, looking at her under his brows. “This wor t’ best.”

She lay still. He softly opened the door. The sky was dark blue, with crystalline, turquoise rim. He went out, to shut up the hens, speaking softly to his dog. And she lay and wondered at the wonder of life, and of being.

When he came back she was still lying there, glowing like a gypsy. He sat on the stool by her.

“Tha mun come one naight ter th’ cottage, afore tha goos; sholl ter?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows as he looked at her, his hands dangling between his knees.

“Sholl ter?” she echoed, teasing.

He smiled.

“Ay, sholl ter?” he repeated.

“Ay!” she said, imitating the dialect sound.