how
naughty Philip had been in not coming out of the water till he was blue
with cold. It was incredible, and yet it seemed that the only effect of
the incident of the night before was to arouse in her a feeling of
protection towards him: she had the same instinctive desire to mother him
as she had with regard to her brothers and sisters.

It was not till the evening that he found himself alone with her. She was
cooking the supper, and Philip was sitting on the grass by the side of the
fire. Mrs. Athelny had gone down to the village to do some shopping, and
the children were scattered in various pursuits of their own. Philip
hesitated to speak. He was very nervous. Sally attended to her business
with serene competence and she accepted placidly the silence which to him
was so embarrassing. He did not know how to begin. Sally seldom spoke
unless she was spoken to or had something particular to say. At last he
could not bear it any longer.

"You're not angry with me, Sally?" he blurted out suddenly.

She raised her eyes quietly and looked at him without emotion.

"Me? No. Why should I be?"

He was taken aback and did not reply. She took the lid off the pot,
stirred the contents, and put it on again. A savoury smell spread over the
air. She looked at him once more, with a quiet smile which barely
separated her lips; it was more a smile of the eyes.

"I always liked you," she said.

His heart gave a great thump against his ribs, and he felt the blood
rushing to his cheeks. He forced a faint laugh.

"I didn't know that."

"That's because you're a silly."

"I don't know why you liked me."

"I don't either." She put a little more wood on the fire. "I knew I liked
you that day you came when you'd been sleeping out and hadn't had anything
to eat, d'you remember? And me and mother, we got Thorpy's bed ready for
you."

He flushed again, for he did not know that she was aware of that incident.
He remembered it himself with horror and shame.

"That's why I wouldn't have anything to do with the others. You remember
that young fellow mother wanted me to have? I let him come to tea because
he bothered so, but I knew I'd say no."

Philip was so surprised that he found nothing to say. There was a queer
feeling in his heart; he did not know what it was, unless it was
happiness. Sally stirred the pot once more.

"I wish those children would make haste and come. I don't know where
they've got to. Supper's ready now."

"