She hesitated, and did so. Her palely-pink cheek lay close to his lips. He said solemnly: "I mind what you said, Fancy, about lying awake nights, wanting lots and lots of things. Tell me about the things you want." "I c-c-can't." Her voice had sunk to an attenuated whisper. He realised that she was trembling, and his own pulses throbbed with hers. He continued, more fluently, pressing her tighter to him: "Are you wanting grand things?" "Oh, no. Whatever made you think so?" "Because, dear, there is something grand about you. It mazes me, when I think on't in my everyday way. You're Parson's parlourmaid, thank the Lord! and I'm a plain carrier, with no book-learning and rough manners. 'Tis like this, Fancy. I'm of the earth, and you're a lil' angel. 'Twouldn't surprise me to find wings growing on your dear back." He touched her back gently, to make sure. It was satisfactory to find that wings, as yet, had not sprouted. "I'm only a silly girl, Alfred." He repeated obstinately: "You're grand. I reckon 'tis your soul which comes nigh to busting your dinky body. Now, Fancy, what do you think about, nights?" Direct in all things, it never occurred to Alfred that a modest girl might shrink from answering such a question in the sincere spirit which put it. She smiled sweetly: "When we talked about that, Alfred, I was thinking amongst other things of...." "Yes, dear?" "That hat." She pointed a slim finger at it. "I wanted that hat ever so, because I saw one very like it on the pretty head of Mrs. Lionel Pomfret. I wrote a long letter to Father, telling him where to buy the straw and the trimmings. You like it, don't you?" "I never saw a prettier hat, but I like best the head as bobs under it." "It cost me four-and-eight; not a penny more." "Wonderful you be with your needle. Go on, Fancy. I reckon that hats ain't all you think about." "I think about Willie, tossing in his great ship." A consuming envy of Willie, the sailor brother, assailed Alfred, but no suitable phrase occurred to him. Fancy continued: "Most of the time, Alfred, my thoughts are with poor Father. He does miss me." "I'll be bound he does." "He enjoys such miserable health. He's a real farrier, doctors horses as well as shoes 'em. And he takes his own medicine. I used to water it down, unbeknown to him." "Horse medicine? That's moving stuff. Looks as if your thoughts, dear, never rambled far from the family." "Oh, yes, they do. I think a lot, Alfred, about the future." This was more encouraging. "So do I; so do I." "If anything happened to Father or Willie, where would I be?" Alfred replied happily: "I don't know where you would be, but I can tell you where you might be." His eager voice beguiled her, but she resisted its pleading.