She glanced up at him with only faint surprise.
"You are a Londoner," she said, "or you would know that here, in these
parts, we are so often more wet than dry that it makes no matter. Yes,
I thought so; there was a thorn in its foot. May I trouble you to hold
him a minute?"
Stafford held the lamb, which was tolerably quiet now; and she slowly
took off her gauntlets, produced a little leather wallet from the
saddle--the horse coming at her call as if he were a dog--took out a
serviceable pair of tweezers, and, with professional neatness,
extracted an extremely ugly thorn. Stafford stood and watched her; the
collie and the fox-terrier upright on their haunches watching her also;
the collie gave an approving bark as, with a pat she liberated the
lamb, which went bleating on its way to join its distracted mother, the
fox-terrier leapt round her with yaps of excited admiration; and there
was admiration in Stafford's eyes also. The whole thing had been done
with a calm, almost savage grace and self-possession, and she seemed to
be absolutely unconscious of his presence, and only remembered it when
the lamb and its mother had joined the flock.
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