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“Lucky you.”

“Do you like swimming?”

“Rather!”

“You should go over to the beach then.”

“Mrs. Holmes thinks it’s a little too early for the children to bathe yet awhile. But she’s promised to let me take them next week if it’s warm enough.”

He opened the gate, and came out to stand beside her.

“Well,” said Ann. “What’s the job I’m to help with? Filling the night-pen or something. I mean to learn this sheep-farming business, you know.”

He laughed.

“Have you got any idea what a night-pen is?”

“Not the foggiest.”

“It’s inside the shed. The sheep are kept in there ready for the morning’s shearing. If it rains, we’ve still got a shed full to start on.”

“Can’t you shear them wet?”

He laughed again.

“I suppose you’ll put damp wool in the press when you start sheep-farming.”

“Not if it’s wrong. I’ll have learnt how to do the right thing by that time. A good-natured head-shepherd will have taught me.”

“He’ll be a chap with a lot of time on his hands, won’t he?”

“Show me the night-pen.”

“Sheep-farmers don’t go into the shed in white silk dresses,” said Marsh.

“It’s crêpe-de-Chine and georgette,” she corrected him.

“How should I know what it is?”