Nevertheless, after another impatient pause she desperately put up her parasol and stepped from the shanty.
Presently she was conscious of a faint sound of hammering not far away.
Perhaps there was another shed, but hidden, like everything else, in this monotonous, ridiculous grain.

Some stalks, however, were trodden down and broken around the shanty; she could move more easily and see where she was going.

To her delight, a few steps further brought her into a current of the trade-wind and a cooler atmosphere.

And a short distance beyond them, certainly, was the shed from which the hammering proceeded.

She approached it boldly.
It was simply a roof upheld by rude uprights and crossbeams, and open to the breeze that swept through it.