Mr Prothero began to rub his ear; a trick he had when in doubt. Netta, seeing this, put her arms round his neck, and whispered,—
'Oh, father! make us happy. He is a good son, father, bach.'
'Then go you and tell the girl, you may have her, as far as I am concerned,' said Mr Prothero.
'Indeed, father!' said Owen doubtfully.
'Do you want me to swear, sir? Upon my deed, then, you may marry the girl. I have but one objection, and that's the way she came here. The girl's a good girl, and I like her well enough. Now, p'r'aps you 'ont go to sea.'
'Decidedly not; I'm a steady land-lubber for my life: thank you, father. Shake hands upon it! You won't repent. Kiss me, Netta! You have done it, I know, and you shall dance at the wedding. Now, I'll go and tell Gladys.'
Owen and his father shook hands until their arms ached. Then the brother and sister kissed one another, and, with a sort of greyhound leap, or caper, Owen started off in search of Gladys.
'Father, you will never repent it. Thank you—a thousand times,' said Netta, covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears.
The worthy farmer cried with her, and thus the father and daughter's love returned and increased.