under the thorn-trees and by the side of the water,
fringed at that part with tall reeds through which the light summer
breeze stirred with a pleasant murmur, "now I will talk to you about Tom
Bowles. Is it true that you don't like that brave young fellow? I say
young, as I take his youth for granted."

"Like him! I hate the sight of him."

"Did you always hate the sight of him? You must surely at one time have
allowed him to think that you did not?"

The girl winced, and made no answer, but plucked a daffodil from the
soil, and tore it ruthlessly to pieces.

"I am afraid you like to serve your admirers as you do that ill-fated
flower," said Kenelm, with some severity of tone. "But concealed in
the flower you may sometimes find the sting of a bee. I see by your
countenance that you did not tell Tom Bowles that you hated him till it
was too late to prevent his losing his wits for you."

"No; I was n't so bad as that," said Jessie, looking, nevertheless,
rather ashamed of herself; "but I was silly and giddy-like, I own; and,
when he first took notice of me, I was pleased, without thinking much of
it, because, you see, Mr. Bowles (emphasis on _Mr._) is higher up than
a poor girl like me. He is a tradesman, and I am only a shepherd's
daughter; though, indeed, Father is more like Mr. Saunderson's foreman
than a mere shepherd. But I never thought anything serious of it, and
did not suppose he did; that is, at first."

"So Tom Bowles is a tradesman. What trade?"

"A farrier, sir."

"And, I am told, a very fine young man."

"I don't know as to that: he is very big."

"And what made you hate him?"

"The first thing that made me hate him was that he insulted Father, who
is a very quiet, timid man, and threatened I don't know what if Father
did not make me keep company with him. Make me indeed! But Mr. Bowles is
a dangerous, bad-hearted, violent man, and--don't laugh at me, sir, but
I dreamed one night he was murdering me. And I think he will too, if he
stays here: and so does his poor mother, who is a very nice woman, and
wants him to go away; but he will not."

"Jessie," said Kenelm, softly, "I said I wanted to make friends with
you. Do you think you can make a friend of me? I can never be more than
friend. But I should like to be that. Can you trust me as one?"

"Yes," answered the girl, firmly, and, as she lifted her eyes to him,
their look was pure from all vestige of coquetry,--guileless, frank,
grateful.