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"
"Yes," she said. "Perhaps!"
"And all the trucks standing waiting, like a string of beasts to be
fed," he said.
"And very thankful I am they ARE standing," she said, "for that means
they'll turn middling time this week."
"But I like the feel of MEN on things, while they're alive. There's a
feel of men about trucks, because they've been handled with men's hands,
all of them."
"Yes," said Mrs. Morel.
They went along under the trees of the highroad. He was constantly
informing her, but she was interested. They passed the end of
Nethermere, that was tossing its sunshine like petals lightly in
its lap. Then they turned on a private road, and in some trepidation
approached a big farm. A dog barked furiously. A woman came out to see.
"Is this the way to Willey Farm?" Mrs. Morel asked.
Paul hung behind in terror of being sent back. But the woman was
amiable, and directed them. The mother and son went through the wheat
and oats, over a little bridge into a wild meadow. Peewits, with their
white breasts glistening, wheeled and screamed about them.


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