Changing Winds. St. John G. Ervine

a dear wee fella," she said. He did not mind being called a "wee fella" now. "But you're keepin' me from my work," she went on.

      He seized her hand impetuously. "Take a day off," he said, "and we'll go for a long walk together!"

      She laughed at him. "You quality people is the great ones for talk," she replied. "An' how could I take a day off an' me with my work to do?"

      "Well, this evening then," he urged.

      "There'll be the cows to milk!..."

      "I'll come and help you."

      "But sure you can't milk!"

      "No, I can't milk, of course, but I can do anything else you want done. I can hold things and ... and run messages ... and just help you. Can't I? And then, when you've finished your work, we'll go and sit in the clover field...."

      "An' get our death of cold sittin' on the damp ground. Dear O, but men talks quare blether!"

      He tried to persuade her that dew was not damping. ... "Ah, quit!" she exclaimed ... and then he begged for her company in a walk along the Ballymena Road.

      "I suppose I'll have to give in to you," she said. "You're a terrible fella for coaxin'!"

      She moved towards the trap where the head of the ladder showed, and prepared to descend from the loft.

      "What time will I come for you?" he asked, following her.

      "Half-seven," she answered, going down the ladder. "I'll be well done my work then!"

      He stood above her, looking down through the trap. "We generally have dinner at half-past seven," he said.

      "You should have your dinner in the middle of the day, like us," she answered, and added, decisively, "It's half-seven or never!"

      "All right," he exclaimed, stooping down carefully and putting his feet on a rung of the ladder. "I'll come for you then. I'll manage it somehow."