| “‘Where are you going, my pretty maid? Where are you going, my pretty maid?’” |
he sang, gayly, as he came up with her.
She started, looked around and recognized her father.
“I am going down to the shore, papa,” she answered, as prosaically as if he had not sung his question. But he was not put down.
| “‘May I go with you, my pretty maid? May I go with you, my pretty maid?’” |
he continued, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm.
But she was not be won to any frivolity, so she replied, gravely:
“I should be very glad to have you, papa.”
| “‘Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Why so pale and wan?’” |
he continued, in a tone of mock gravity.