The colour rose to her face and her heart beat quickly.  There is one thing left for women to worship; and they worship it readily—­and that is strength.  Stafford could not count sheep—­any woman could do that—­but he could do what no woman could do:  lift those great stones into their places.

So that, as he waded out of the river, she smiled on him instead of at him—­which is a very different thing—­as she said: 

“How strong you must be!  I should have thought it would have required two or three men to lift those stones.”

“Oh, it’s easy enough, as easy as—­counting sheep when you know how.”

She laughed.

“But you must be very wet,” she said, glancing at the water as it dripped from his clothes.

“Oh, it’s all in the day’s work,” he said, cheerfully, more than cheerfully, happily.  “Now for the steers.”

“They’re in the dale,” she said; and she looked at him as she spoke with a new interest, with the interest a woman feels in the presence of her master, of the man who can move mountains.

He shook the water from him and rode at her side more cheerfully than he had done hitherto, for he had, so to speak, proved his helpfulness.  He might be an idiot, but he could lift weir stones into their place.

“There they are,” she said.  “And, oh, dear!  One of them has got loose.  There ought to be fourteen and there are only thirteen!”

“Good heavens!  You must have eyes like a hawk’s”

She laughed.  “Oh, no; I’m used to it, that is all.  Now, where can it be?  I thought all the fences were mended.  I must find it!”

“Stop!” he said.  “At any rate, I can find a cow—­bullock—­steer.  Let me go.  You wait here.”

He rode off as he spoke, and she pulled up the big chestnut and looked after him.  Once more the question rose to perplex her:  why had he come, why was he riding about the dale with her, counting sheep, wading in the stream, lifting weir stones, and herding cattle?  It seemed to be so strange, so inexplicable.  And as she followed him with her eyes, his grace and strength were impressed upon her, and she dwelt upon them dreamily.  Were there many such men in the world of which she knew so little, or was he one alone, and unique?  And how good, how pleasant it was to have him with her, to talk to her, to help her!  She had often longed for a brother, and had pictured one like this, strong and handsome, with frank eyes and smiling lips—­someone upon whom she could lean, to whom she could go when she was in trouble.

A shout awoke her from her reverie; and looking up she saw the missing steer forcing its way through a hedge on top of a bank.  Stafford was riding after it at an easy canter and coming straight for the bank.  The steer plunged through the hedge and floundered through the wide ditch, and Ida headed it and drove it towards the rest of the herd.  Then she turned in her saddle to warn Stafford of the ditch; but as she turned he was close upon the bank, and she saw the big hunter rise for the leap.