Spreading these three or four deep in the far corner of the barn, I
covered them thickly with hay, and having reserved a sack on purpose, I
stuffed it loosely with hay to serve for a pillow.
All this busy time Mistress Waynflete stood on the moonlit door-sill,
silent as a mouse, and when I stole quietly up to tell her all was ready,
I saw that her hands were clasped in front and her lips moved. I bared my
head and waited, for she had transformed this poor barn into a maiden's
sanctuary.
She turned her face towards me. "Madam," said I, very quietly, "your bed
is ready, and you are tired out and dead for sleep. Pray come!"
Still silent, she stepped up and examined my rude handiwork. Then she
curled herself up on the hay, and I covered her with more hay till she lay
snug enough to keep out another Great Frost.
"Good night, madam, and sweet sleep befall you," and I was turning away.
"Ho!" she said, "and pray where do you propose to sleep?"
"I shall nest under the rick-straddle."
"Sir," and her tone was almost unpleasant, "for the modesty you attribute
unto me, I thank you. For the gratitude you decline to attribute unto me,
I dislike you.
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