“I did not know anyone was here,” she answered, “and I was a little startled, and that’s the truth.”
“You’ve got very timursome o’ late. Tell me, girl, what ails ye? Ye gets paler and thinner every mortal day; and ye see we are getting a bit concerned.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” she answered, with a faint smile. “There’s nothin’ amiss wi’ me.”
“Aye, but there is, gell. I tell ’ee thee is getting in a bad way. Dall it, I do not want to see ye go melancholy mad.”
“Oh, I shan’t do that.”
“Jane,” said the farmer, in a more solemn and serious tone than he was wont to assume; “ye been a thinkin’ an’ a thinkin’ till your brain becomes all of a whirl. Tell us, lass, what ails ye, and if anything can be done to put thee right it sha’ be done. You know, Jane, we all o’ us are as fond o’ ye as if—as if ye were our own flesh and blood. Your troubles are our troubles, an’—well, what was I saying? Oh, you must not look like that.”
“How am I to look, then?”
“More natural like.”
The farmer stood for a few moments after this silent and thoughtful.
Presently he drew a chair beside Jane’s and sat down. Upon this the girl was about to rise when he motioned her to keep her seat.