Page:Lippincotts Monthly Magazine-40.djvu/150

140 "Thou art a little fool to cry so: dost hear? What! at it again? Well, well, God patience me! What's a body to do with such a little ninny? There! dry your eyes. Ye shall have your Robin, never fear. God-a-mercy! at what art blubbering now?" But down slipped Ruth on her knees, and caught Keren about hers, and she saith unto her,—

"Heaven bless thee! thou art a good woman! May Heaven forgive me for all such words as e'er I have said against thee! Bless thee! bless thee!"

"Bodykins," saith my lass (having learned some round oaths from me, I do grieve to say),—"bodykins!" saith she, "wilt a-hear th' lass? I say scamper, scamper; my father 'll be coming home to sup ere long, and I would not he found thee thus. Away with thee! And fret no more: dost hear? If I hear that thou hast moped any farther from this hour on, I'll not answer either for my doings or for those o' others: dost hear? Now scamper!" And scamper a did, like a hare with th' hounds upon 't.

So full was I o' praising my lass on her good havior, that I had got me from th' lattice and was half in at the door ere I saw what had befallen.

There was my madcap, comrade, down on her knees afore the settle, wi' both hands gripped in her thick locks, and her head bent forward on th' wooden seat. And she made no sound, neither uttered she any word, but a shook like water when a heavy weight rolls past. And a drew long breaths ever and anon, like one that hath been half drowned and is coming back to life. And I knew then, I knew then, comrade. I had thought a loved th' boy; and I knew then. So I got me out, without making any clatter, and I sat me down on a bench outside th' kitchen door to think 't over; and, by cock and pye, man, ne'er a thought could I think for th' tears in my eyes. Th' poor lass! th' poor lass! It fetches th' salt into my een now to think on 't. Well, well, what's past is past, and God himself cannot undo 't; and what's coming's coming, and God wunnot hinder it an he could: so there's an end on 't. Fill up, man, fill up! What there, I say! Joel! I say! A quart o' sack for Master Turnip.

Well, when I had thought it well o'er, I did determine to say naught to th' lass whatsoever; neither did I; but meseems I was bound to o'er-hear heart-breaking words atween somebody, for th' very next day, as I was henting th' style as leads into th' lane (thou knowest the lane I mean, comrade: 't lies atween Cowslip Meadow and th' pool i' th' hollow,—Sweet hearts' Way, they call 't)—well, as I was getting o'er th' style, as I had just got me o'er by one leg, after this fashion, ye mind: