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 said she was still ailing. After a pause he asked whether he had ever offended Mrs. Vale. He believed she was avoiding him. Good Lord, no, Derek assured him, she was simply languid, lay down a great deal. He believed the winter had been hard on her. He placed the daffodils in a vase and they stood on the table, golden and arrogant between the two men.

Since he had been so much alone with Derek, Buckskin had grown very shy. He screamed and kicked when Hobbs picked him up, and even the proffering of Hobbs's big gold watch would not tempt him. But when Hobbs took a daffodil from the vase and held it towards him, he did a wonderful thing. He left Derek's knees, between which he had braced himself, and ran to Hobbs. They were his first steps unaided by his father. Derek was red with pride. Hobbs was jubilant. When Buckskin found out what he could do, he did it again and again, toddling, head down, from Derek's knee to Hobbs. Mouldy silage, dead sheep, sick cows were clean forgotten while they watched the splendid staggering of the boy.

"Well, well," said Hobbs. "It beats all. Most cock-a-hoop little rascal. Eleven months, did you say?"

"Yes," replied Derek. "His birthday's in April. I don't want to seem a fool about him, Hobbs, but he really is a rip, isn't he?"

To Derek it seemed that there would be no end to this strange secluded winter that enveloped him like a fog, a fog through which the memory of that morning on the hummocks shot like a flame. But he sought no further meetings. What was the use? Better cling to the remembrance of those terribly sweet moments and forget the rest, if one could. Not seek to add to their sweetness, lest the fruit of the flower should be bitter.

He would sit before the fire in the evenings seeing in the