She had her way.  They went by way of the fields, he and she alone through the lifting mist, while Granny Grimshaw and Jim Dawlish marched solemnly back to the mill by the road.

“It’s a very good morning’s work,” asserted Granny Grimshaw with much satisfaction.  “I always felt that Master Jeff would never marry any but a lady.”

“I’d rather him than me,” returned Jim Dawlish obscurely.

Which remark Granny Grimshaw treated as unworthy of notice.

As Jeff Ironside and his bride neared the last stile the sun came through and shone upon all things.

“I’m glad we came this way,” she said.

Jeff said nothing.  He never spoke unless he had something to say.

They reached the stile.  He strode over and reached back a hand to her.  She took it, mounted and stepped over, then sat down unexpectedly on the top bar with the hand in hers.

“Jeff!” she said.

He looked up at her.  Her voice was small and shy, her cheeks very delicately flushed.

“What is it?” said Jeff.

She looked down at the brown hand she held, all roughened and hardened by toil, and hesitated.

“Well?” said Jeff.

She turned her eyes upon his face.  “Are you going back to work to-day, just as if—­as if nothing had happened?” she asked.

He looked straight back at her.  “You don’t want me, do you?” he said.

She nodded.  “Shall we go for a picnic?” she said.

“A picnic!” He seemed surprised at the suggestion.

She laughed a little.  “Do you never go for picnics?  I do—­all by myself sometimes.  It’s rather fun, you know.”

“By yourself?” said Jeff.

She rose from her perch.  “It’s more fun with someone certainly,” she said.

Jeff’s face reflected her smile for an instant.  “All right,” he said.  “I’ll take a holiday for once.  But come home now and have some breakfast.”

She stepped down beside him.  “It’s nice of you to give me the very first thing I ask for,” she said.  “Will you do something else for me?”

“Yes,” said Jeff.

“Then will you call me Dot?” she said.  “It was the pet name my mother gave me.  No one has used it since she died.”

“Dot,” repeated Jeff.  “You really want me to call you that?”

“But, of course,” she said, smiling, “you haven’t called me anything yet.  Please begin at once!  It really isn’t difficult.”

“Very well, Dot,” he said.  “And where are we going for our picnic?”

“Oh, not very far,” she said.  “Somewhere within a quite easy walk.”

“Can’t we ride?” suggested Jeff.

“Ride?” She looked at him in surprise.

“I have a horse who would carry you,” he said.

“Have you—­have you, really?” Quick pleasure came into her eyes.  “Oh, Jeff, how kind of you!”

“No, it isn’t,” said Jeff bluntly.  “I want you to be happy.”