“You are bad, mean, mean, mean.”

“Are yer commin’ down?” asked Maurice, coldly.

“No — I will not come with you — mean, to tell me lies.”

“Are ter commin’ down?”

“No, I don’t want you.”

“A’ ra�ght, then!”

Geoffrey, peering through the holly tree, saw Maurice negotiating the ladder. The top rung was below the brim of the stack, and rested on the cloth, so it was dangerous to approach. The Fr�ulein watched him from the end of the stack, where the cloth thrown back showed the light, dry hay. He slipped slightly, she screamed. When he had got on to