FLETCHER HILL


There came a sound of hoofs thudding over the pastures. Robin lifted his
eyebrows and cocked his ears with a growl.

Dot barely glanced up from the saucepan she was cleaning; her lips
tightened a little, that was all.

The hoofs drew rapidly nearer, dropping from a canter to a quick trot
that ended in a clattering walk on the stones of the yard. Through the
open window Dot heard the heavy thud of a man's feet as he jumped to the
ground.

Then came Jack's voice upraised in greeting. "Hallo, Fletcher! Come in,
man! Come in! Delighted to see you."

The voice that spoke in answer was short and clipped. Somehow it had an
official sound. "Hallo, Jack! Good evening, Mrs. Burton! What! Alone?"

Jack laughed. "Dot's in the kitchen. Hi! little 'un! Bring some drinks!"

Robin was on his feet, uttering low, jerky barks. Dot put aside her
saucepan and began to wash her hands. She did not hasten to obey Jack's
call, but when she turned to collect glasses on a tray she was trembling
and her breath came quickly, as if from violent exercise.

Nevertheless she did not hesitate, but went straight through to the
little parlour, carrying her tray with the jingling glasses upon it.