And hey my merry ploughman!
Of all the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.”
BONNY brought her song to an end beside her brother at the door of the little stable, whither, at the close of the afternoon, he had guided his horse; and though her rich young voice was music in his ears, Roland turned toward his sister a face which did not respond to the mirth of hers.
“Hello, Bon! Back? Well, how does it seem to be a day-laborer?”
“Ah! my laddie, how does it seem to be a ploughman? Prettier in song than reality, eh? Why, Roland!”
“Well, what?”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Stuff!”