irtle
from her face. And while she is snooding up her ruffled locks, she saith
unto her,

"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 erelong, 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 further 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'erhear
heart-breaking words atween somebody, for th' very next day, as I was
henting th' style as leads into th' lane (thou knowest the