'Make it something! I won't have it washed out. It marks the prime moment of my life—when I came from darkness into sunshine. You must come some day and do our Cathedral from the meads, and I'll show you where I cut out our initials and 1861.'
'No! did you?'
'Of course; and all the more because you would not break a sixpence. You will now?'
'With all my heart!'
'I declare I haven't got one now! Only a three-penny bit, again.'
'Here's one!' said Robina. 'Give me the three-penny, and then it will be half from each.'
'That's not the right arrangement,' said Will, as he frowned horribly over the difficulty of dividing the coin. 'I say, I'll get you a ring to-morrow, though it won't be such a one as Jack's.'
'No, it will be much better!' said Robina, taking the scissors at her chatelaine, (from a Repworth Christmas-tree,) and snipping a lock from his head, while he was still struggling with the sixpence. 'There, I shall make that into a ring! Yes it is the only one I will have—the only gold I care for.'
'If you call that gold, it is decisive,' said Will, laughing, as she twined the ruddy thing in her fingers. 'You must have something to set it in?'
'Yes; I must wait till the chestnut horse comes home, for a few hairs of his mane for a foundation—black would show through.'