heavy door when towards her,
across the rickyard, came the figure of a man. His head was bent so
that she could not see his face, but she thought from his lumbering walk
that it must be Peter, and in a moment it flashed across her mind that
he had just got back from Cuddingham. While she stood hesitating just
within the door the man came quite close, and before she could call out
the key rattled in the lock and heavy footsteps tramped away again.
Then it was Peter. But surely he must have seen her, and if so why had
he locked her in? Anyhow here she was for the night, and the next thing
to do was to find a bed. She groped her way past the stalls of the
three Pleasants, whose dwelling she had invaded, to the upright ladder
which led to the loft. The horses were all lying down after their hard
day's work, and only one of them turned his great head with a rattle of
his halter, to see who this small intruder could be. Lilac clambered up
the ladder and was soon in the dark fragrant-smelling loft above, where
the trusses of hay and straw were mysteriously grouped under the low
thick beams. There was no lack of a soft warm nest here, and the close
neighbourhood of the Pleasants made it feel secure and friendly; nothing
could possibly be better. She took off her shoes, curled herself up
cosily in the hay, and shut her weary eyes. Presently she opened them
drowsily again, and then discovered that her lodging was shared by a
companion, for on the rafters just above her head, her single eye
gleaming in the darkness, sat Peter's cat Tib. Lilac called to her, but
she took no notice and did not move, having her own affairs to conduct
at that time of night. Lilac watched her dreamily for a little while,
and then her thoughts wandered on to Peter and became more and more
confused. He got mixed up with Joshua, and the cactus and
None-so-pretty and heaps of white flowers. "The common things are the
best things," she seemed to hear over and over again. Then quite
suddenly she was in Mrs Wishing's cottage, and the loft was filled with
the heavy sickly smell of poppy tea: it was so strong that it made her
feel giddy and her eyelids seemed pressed down by a firm hand. After
that she remembered nothing more that night.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE CREDIT OF THE FARM.

"Many littles make a mickle."--_Scotch Proverb_.

She was awakened the next morning by trampling noises in the stable
below, and starting up could not at first m