“Because I did not ask him,” said Barefoot. The stable-boy made a coarse joke, and laughed at himself, for there are certain occasions when the most simple can be witty.
The cheeks of Barefoot glowed like crimson, from the double heat of the fire and her own inner flame.
“I tell you what,” she said, “you know yourself what you are worth, and I cannot make you respect yourself; but I can forbid you from having no respect for me. And now leave the kitchen. You have nothing to do here; and if you do not go immediately, I will show you the way out.”
“Will you wake the master?”
“That is not necessary,” said Barefoot, taking a burning brand from the hearth that scattered sparks; “go! or I shall mark you.”
The stable-boy sneaked with a forced laugh away. Barefoot tucked up her dress, and went with the smoking drink down into the stall.
The cow seemed grateful that she had been thought of so early in the morning. She lowed, and left drinking many times to look with gentle, open eyes at Barefoot.
“Yes, now I shall be questioned and finely teased,” thought Barefoot; “but what does it matter?”
Going with the milk-pail to another cow, she sang,—
“Turn about, turn about,