Glenys tried to pull herself out of the bed, which meant freeing herself from the confining arms which held her. What on earth had possessed her? She remembered telling Sam that she would sleep on what little hay was left after his bed-making activities; what had changed her mind? She was a well brought up young woman and should have known better than to share any bed, whatever the circumstances, with a man. So now she twisted in Sam’s embrace, wrenched herself out of his arms and woke him by the simple expedient of punching him in the chest and then tugging at his thick mop of curling black hair, hissing as she did so: ‘Wake up, Sam Trewin. How dare you make me sleep in the same bed as you, even if it is made out of hay and newspapers?’

‘And sacks, and a couple of cardboard boxes,’ Sam said dreamily. ‘But it’s better to be warm together than cold apart.’

Glenys sniffed and scrambled to her feet, shivering as the cold air struck her and horrified to find that she was only wearing her white cotton petticoat. ‘Did you . . .’ she began indignantly, but then she remembered removing her soaked dress and, with chattering teeth, hanging it beside her equally soaking coat. Trembling with the cold, she crossed to the window and took it down. It was not dry but it was no longer sodden, only damp, and she began to struggle into it, turning to where Sam, without any of the embarrassment she felt, was stepping into his stout denim trousers and pulling on his thick navy blue jersey over his blue shirt and what she blushingly supposed to be his underwear.

‘Everyone will know we spent the night together,’ she said, her voice shaking a little. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to invent some story which will save my reputation?’

Sam laughed. ‘We’ll pile up the newspapers in a corner and spread the hay out all over the floor and say we staggered in here at the height of the blizzard, lay down on the hay and slept until it grew light. Will that satisfy you?’ He smiled at her and she read understanding and a little amusement in his face. ‘My dear Glenys, you really mustn’t be so prudish. Of course it would have been a good deal nicer had we discovered two beautiful beds with blankets and pillows and a pair of pyjamas for myself and a nightdress for you, but things like that only happen in fairy stories.’ He looked her up and down with a critical eye. ‘No one would dream that you’d not spent the night in your dress, nor I in my denims and jersey, so stop worrying that your reputation is ruined, because it’s nonsense.’ He walked over to the window, no longer hidden by their clothing, and bent down to peer out. He stared around him for a moment then straightened up once more. ‘I can’t recognise anything, I’m afraid; snow changes a landscape completely. But presently I’ll climb the nearest hill and no doubt see some landmark I recognise.’ He turned to smile at his companion. ‘I’m sure you’ve read The Wind In The Willows by Kenneth Grahame. Do you remember the bit where Mole goes off by himself into the Wild Wood? He curls up inside a hollow tree because he’s afraid of the Faces, and in the night it snows . . .’