'He'll sleep till noon if I let 'im,' said Andrew. They drove off in silence, the snow muffling the plunging hoofs. Hazel looked back as the sky crimsoned for dawn. The house fronted her with a look of power and patience. She felt that it had not yet done with her. She wondered how she would feel if Reddin suddenly appeared at his window. And a tiny traitorous wish slipped up from somewhere in her heart. She watched the windows till a turn hid the house, and then she sighed. Almost she wished that Reddin had awakened. But she soon forgot everything in delight; for the snow shone, the long slots of the rabbits and hares, the birds' tracks in orderly rows, the deep footprints of sheep, all made her laugh by their vagaries, for they ran in loops and in circles, and appeared like the crazy steps of a sleep-walker to those who had not the key of their activity. Hazel's own doings were like that; everyone's doings are like it, if one sees the doings without the motive. Plovers wheeled and cried desolately, seeing the soft relentless snow between themselves and their green meadows, sad as those that see fate drawing thick veils between themselves and the meadows of their hope and joy. At the foot of the Callow Hazel got out. 'Never tell him,' she said, looking up. 'Never in life,' said Vessons. Hazel hesitated. 'Never tell him,' she added, 'unless he asks a deal and canna rest.' 'He may ask till Doomsday,' said Vessons, 'and he may be restless as the ten thousand ghosses that trapse round Undern when the moon's low, but I'll ne'er tell 'im.' Hazel sighed, and turned to climb the hill. 'A missus at Undern!' said Andrew to the cob's ears as they trotted home. 'No, never will I!' A magpie rose from a wood near the road, jibing at him. He looked round almost as if it had been someone laughing at his resolve, and repeated, 'Never will I!' 'Where's Hazel?' asked Reddin. 'Neither wild 'orses, nor blood 'orses, nor race 'orses nor cart 'orses, nor Suffolk punches--' began Vessons whose style was cumulative, and who, when he had made a good phrase, was apt to work it to death like any other artist. 'Oh, you're drunk, Vessons!' said his master. 'Shall drag it from me,' finished Vessons. Reddin knew this was true, and felt rather hopeless. Still, he determined not to give up the search until he had found Hazel. He inquired at the Hunter's Arms, but Vessons had been there before him, and he was met by pleasant stupidity. Vessons was of the people, Reddin of the aristocracy, so the frequenters of the Hunter's Arms sided as one man against Reddin. 'You'll not get another bite of that apple,' said Vessons with satisfaction, when his master returned with downcast face. 'I can't stand your manners much longer, Vessons,' said he irritably. 'Gie me notice, then,' said Vessons, falling back on the well-worn formula, and scoring his usual triumph.