e fishing one spring had followed a stream into
the Doone estate. When the following scene opens he had just had
a desperate struggle to save himself from the swift current of
the stream, and had nearly lost his life.]

When I came to myself again, my hands were full of young grass and mold,
and a little girl, kneeling at my side, was rubbing my forehead tenderly
with a dock-leaf and a handkerchief.

"Oh, I am so glad!" she whispered, softly, as I opened my eyes and
looked at her; "now you will try to be better, won't you?"

I had never heard so sweet a sound as came from between her bright red
lips, while there she knelt and gazed at me; neither had I ever seen
anything so beautiful as the large, dark eyes intent upon me, full of
pity and wonder. And then, my nature being slow, and perhaps, for that
matter, heavy, I wandered with my hazy eyes down the black shower of her
hair, as to my jaded gaze it seemed. Perhaps she liked my countenance,
and indeed I know she did, because she said so afterward; although at
that time she was too young to know what made her take to me.

Thereupon I sat upright, with my little trident still in one hand, and
was much afraid to speak to her, being conscious of my country brogue,
lest she should cease to like me. But she clapped her hands, and made
a trifling dance around my back, and came to me on the other side, as
if I were a great play thing.

"What is your name?" she said, as if she had every right to ask me;
"and how did you come here, and what are these wet things in this great
bag?"

"You had better let them alone," I said; "they are loaches for my
mother. But I will give you some, if you like."

"Dear me, how much you think of them! Why, they are only fish. But how
your feet are bleeding! Oh, I must tie them up for you. And no shoes
nor stockings! Is your mother very poor, poor boy?"

"No," I said, being vexed at this; "we are rich enough to buy all this
great meadow, if we chose; and here my shoes and stockings be."

"Why, they are quite as wet as your feet; and I cannot bear to see your
feet. Oh, please to let me bandage them; I will do it very softly."

"Oh, I don't think much of that," I replied; "I shall put some goose
grease to them. But how you are looking at me! I never saw one like you
before. My name is John Ridd. What is your name?"

"Lorna Doone," she answered, in a low voice, as if afraid of it, and
hanging her head so that I could see only