Her gaze wandered over the expanse beyond the opposite wall; a wall of loose stones piled scientifically together, without aid from mortar. Grass-fields, divided by similar walls, sloped downward into a hollow, where lay the clustering stone houses of a village, well named Midfell, since all around, at distances varying from two to four miles, broad moor fells reared their summits. Their clear wide lines stood against a sky of pure blue, and the bright green of grass-land contrasted with the richer green of late July bracken, while other parts had begun faintly to blush with the glow of opening heather. All was grazing-land, varied only by uncultivated moor. No trace of corn could be seen. It was a fair look-out; so calm that the whisper of a brooklet might be heard on its way to join the main stream which cut the village in half. Phyllys could see that stream from where she sat, and a stone bridge over it, beside which was her home. Now and again a low "moo" floated from one of the meadows, then the bark of a dog, and again a child's voice. "Wough!" protested Wiggles anew. He went for a third survey of the stranger, feeling himself responsible for his mistress' safety. There was a slight "Sh-sh!" and the stranger's eyes gazed into his. Wiggles knew that no harm lay behind those sombre blue orbs, and he wagged his tail. "Good dog!" the stranger said aloud. Phyllys overheard, and uttered an "Oh!" to herself. She had been well lectured on the fact that at twenty-three she was years too old for tree climbing, and she never now ventured on the amusement except in privacy. There was nothing for it but to wait till the other should have gone on. Owing to the nature of the ground a dignified descent was impossible. She would have to come with a drop, a run, and a leap—enjoyable enough, but not to be allowed before spectators. "Pardon me," the intruder said, advancing to the foot of the bank, and lifting his straw hat. "I could not help hearing your name. As it happens that I am on my way to your house, perhaps I may venture to introduce myself. If we are not acquainted, we ought to be." Phyllys paid but divided attention. She had discovered that her bough was unequal to its task, and was giving way. If only the interloper would hurry on and leave her to scramble down, all would be right. He showed no such intention. "My name is Giles Randolph," he was remarking. "I say!" whispered Phyllys, as her support yielded more pronouncedly. She clutched the trunk. "I hardly think you are comfortable up there," the deep voice observed, while its owner steadied himself for instant action. "It is most delightful," hardily asserted Phyllys. "But if you would please go on round the corner, I will come after you." She was chafing with impatience, for each moment was of importance, and he stood as if an earthquake would not dislodge him. "I think you had better let me help you down." "Help 'me!'"—with a laugh.