Before her, the moor sloped to the road and rose again, lifting Pinderwell House on its bosom, and to her right, from the hidden chimneys of Halkett's Farm, she could see smoke rising as though it were the easy breath of some monster lying snug among the trees. There was no other movement, though the sober front of Pinderwell House was animated for an instant by the shaking of some white substance from a window. Miriam was at her household tasks, and Helen waved a hand to the dark being who had made life smoother for her since her night of stormy weeping. She waved a hand of gratitude and friendship, but the signal was not noticed, the house returned to its discretion, John and Lily talked sparsely but with complete understanding, and Helen grew drowsy in the sunshine. She was happier than she had ever been, for Zebedee had laid peace on her, like a spell, and the warmth of that happiness stole up from her feet and spread over her breast; it curled the corners of her mouth so that John, turning to look at her, asked her why she smiled. "I'm comfortable," she said. "Never been comfortable before?" She gave him the clear depths of her eyes. "Not often." He went away, driving the cow before him, and Lily stood looking after him. "He's wonderful," she said. "He comes along and takes hold of things and begins to teach me my own business." "So you're pleased with him?" Helen said demurely. "Yes," the other answered with twitching lips, "he's doing very well." Her laughter faded, and she said softly, "I wonder if they often happen--marriages like ours." "Tell me about it." "Nothing to tell. It's just as if it's always been, and every minute it seems fresh." "No," Helen said consideringly, "I shouldn't think it often happens. I've come for a pound of butter, please." "How's Mrs. Caniper?" "She's better, but I think she would be rather glad to die. I let her make a cake yesterday, and it did her good. Come and see her soon." "I will. Let's go to the dairy. Will you have it in halves or quarters? Look at my new stamp!" "What is it meant to be?" "Well! It's a Shetland pony, of course." "I like the pineapple better. I don't think a pony seems right on butter. I'll have the pineapple." "John says there's as much sense in one as in the other, because we don't get butter from either of them." "The pineapple is food, though." "So's the pony, by some accounts!" She leaned in her old attitude against a shelf, and eyed Helen nervously. "Talking of ponies, have you seen anything of these ghostly riders?" "I don't know what they are." "That's what my--our--shepherd calls them. He saw them late one night, a while back. One was a woman, he said, and the air was cold with them and set him sneezing. That's what he says." "It was some of the wild ponies, I suppose." "Maybe." "You don't think it was really ghosts?" "No, for I've seen them myself." She paused. "I haven't said anything to John, but I'm wondering if I ought." "Why not?"