But pray give me credit for a little common sense. I shall
desire your services in the morning, and I do not want to find you under a
rick, frozen to a fossil."
"No, madam."
She sprang out of bed, tumbling the hay in all directions.
"Master Wheatman, I will not pretend to misunderstand you, and indeed, I
thank you, but you are going to put your bed here," stamping her foot, "so
that we can talk without raising our voices. I am much more willing to
sleep in the same barn with you than in the same town with my Lord
Brocton. Where's your share of the sacks?"
I did without sacks, but I fetched more chunks of hay, and she helped me
strew a bed for myself close up to her own. I tucked her up once more, and
then made myself cosy. I was miserable lest I should snore. Yokels so
often do. Joe Braggs, for instance, would snore till the barn door rattled.
I remembered the cordial, and we each had a good pull at the flask. I
felt for days the touch of her smooth, soft fingers on mine as she took it.
"It certainly does warm you up," she said. "I feel all aglow without and
within."
"Then I may take it that you are comfortable?"
"If it were not for two things, I should say this was a boy-and-girl
escapade of ours, every moment of which was just pure enjoyment.
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