Her eyes were grey and fearless.
"How lovely to own a field like this!" she said.

"And plough it and sow it and watch it grow up, and then cut it and turn it into sheaves! How proud the man who owns it must be!" Something stirred on the other side of the sheaf, and she started a little and glanced backwards.

"What's that ?" "A rat probably," said Hugh Chesyl serenely from his couch in the punt.
"I expect the place is full of 'em.

Won't you continue your rhapsody?
The man who owns this particular field is a miller as well as a farmer.
He grinds his own grain." "Oh, is he that man ?" Eagerly she broke in.

"Does he live in that perfectly exquisite old red-brick house on the water with the wheel turning all day long?
Oh, isn't he lucky ?" "I doubt if he thinks so," said Hugh Chesyl.