"And wherefore not, wise sir? since you would nathless enter chickenhood."
But instead of replying in the same gay, bantering tone, Harry sighed deeply, and, still holding her hand, drew her into the field.
"It is quite true, Maud," he said. "I was actually wishing to be a chicken, or anything but what I am—Harry Drury, of Hayslope Grange."
"Prithee, now tell me wherefore you wished this," said Maud.
Harry had always told her his secrets since she first came, a little delicate girl, to live at the Grange.
"Now, marry, I can scarcely do that. But life is such a puzzle—such a tangle—men seem to be put in the wrong places."
"And you think you have one of the wrong places?" said Maud.
Harry nodded. "I am beginning to feel sure of it," he said, sadly.
"Then put yourself in the right place," said Maud, quickly, without in the least knowing to what he referred.
"By my faith, I cannot," he said, huskily.