"Well, sir," I said, "I shall be pleased to hear it. If it has any
pertinence to the harvesting of a second crop it would be welcome."

My father sighed. He never entered very heartily into diversion
nowadays--small wonder!--so the Provost laughed on with his counsel.

"You know very well it has nothing to do with harvesting nor harrowing,"
he cried; "I said kirtles, didn't I! And you needn't be so coy about the
matter; surely to God you never learned modesty at your trade of sacking
towns. Many a wench----"

"About this counsel," I put in; "I have no trick or tale of wenchcraft
beyond the most innocent. And beside, sir, I think we were just talking
of a lady who is your daughter."

Even in his glass he was the gentleman, for he saw the suggestion at
once.

"Of course, of course, Colin," he said hurriedly, coughing in a
confusion. "Never mind an old fool's havering." Then said he again,
"There's a boy at many an old man's heart. I saw you standing there and
my daughter was yonder, and it just came over me like the verse of a
song that I was like you when I courted her mother. My sorrow! it looks
but yesterday, and yet here's an old done man! Folks have been born and
married (some of them) and died since syne, and I've been going through
life with my eyes shut to my own antiquity. It came on me like a flash
three minutes ago, that this gross oldster, sitting of a Saturday
sipping the good _aqua_ of Elrigmore, with a pendulous waistcoat and a
wrinkled hand, is not the lad whose youth and courtship you put me in
mind of."

"Stretch your hand, Provost, and fill your glass," said my father. He
was not merry in his later years, but he had a hospitable heart.

The two of them sat dumb a space, heedless of the bottle or me, and at
last, to mar their manifest sad reflections, I brought the Provost back
to the topic of his counsel.

"You had a word of advice," I said, very softly. There was a small tinge
of pleasure in my guess that what he had to say might have reference to
his daughter.

"Man! I forget now," he said, rousing himself. "What were we on?"

"Harvesting," said father.

"No, sir; kirtles," said I.

"Kirtles--so it was," said the Provost. "My wife at Betty's age, when
I first sought her company, was my daughter's very model, in face and
figure."

"She was a handsome woman, Provost," said my father. "I can well believe
it," said I. "She is that to-day," cried the Provost, pursing his lips
and lifting u