The girl looked at me with surprise. “How do you know what book it is?” said she.
“How do I know—never mind; but a nice book it is—no love, no fortune-telling in it.”
The girl looked at me half offended. “Fortune-telling!” said she, “I should think not. But you know nothing about it;” and she bent her head once more over the book.
“I tell you what, young person,” said I, “I know all about that book; what will you wager that I do not?”
“I never wager,” said the girl.
“Shall I tell you the name of it,” said I, “O daughter of the dairy?”
The girl half started. “I should never have thought,” said she, half timidly, “that you could have guessed it.”
“I did not guess it,” said I, “I knew it; and meet and proper it is that you should read it.”
“Why so?” said the girl.
“Can the daughter of the dairy read a more fitting book than the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter’?”