“D’you know the lime-kiln on North Hill?”

“Rather.  The bee orchis grows thereabout.”

He thought for a moment.  “If I showed you my den in the store, would you swear to God never to tell?”

“Yes, I’d swear faithfully not to.”

“Perhaps I will, then.”

But when presently they reached his haunt, he had changed his mood.  She did not remind him, left him to his devices and sat patiently outside while he was hidden within.  Occasionally his head popped out of unexpected places aloft, then disappeared again.  Once she heard a great noise, followed by silence.  She called to him and, after a pause, he shouted down that he was all right.

When an hour had passed she called out again to tell him to come back to her.

“We’re going to Bridport to tea,” she said.

He came immediately and revealed a badly torn trouser leg.

“I fell,” he explained.  “I fell through a rotten ceiling, and I’ve cut my leg.  When I was young the sight of blood made me go fainty, but I laugh at it now.”

He pulled up his trousers and showed a badly barked shin.

“We’ll go to a chemist and get him to wash it, and I’ll get a needle and thread and sew it up,” said Estelle.

She condoled with him as they drove to Bridport, but he was impatient of sympathy.

“I don’t mind pain,” he said.  “I’ve tried the Red Indian tests on myself before to-day.  Once I had to see a doctor after; but I didn’t flinch when I was doing it.”

A chemist dressed the wounded leg and presently they arrived at ’The Seven Stars,’ where the pony was stabled and tea taken in the garden.  Mrs. Legg provided a needle and thread and produced a very excellent tea.

Abel enjoyed the swing for some time, but would not let Estelle help him.

“I can swing myself,” he said, “but I’ll swing you afterwards.”

He did so until they were tired.  Then he walked round the flower borders and presently picked Estelle a rose.

She thanked him very heartily and told him the names of the blossoms which he did not know.

Job came and talked to them for a time, and Estelle praised the garden, while Abel listened.  Then Mr. Legg turned to the boy.

“Holidays round again, young man?  I dare say we shall see you sometimes, and, if you like flowers, you can always come in and have a look.”

“I don’t like flowers,” said the boy.  “I like fruit.”

He went back to the swing and Job asked after Mr. Waldron.

Estelle reminded him that he had promised to come and see her garden some day.

“Be sure I shall, miss,” he answered, “but, for the minute, work fastens on me from my rising up to my going down.”

“However do you get through it all?”

“Thanks to method.  It’s summed up in that.  Without method, I should be a lost man.”

“You ought to slack off,” she said.  “I’m sure that Nelly doesn’t like to see you work so hard.”