“Nothing at all,” said I.
“Bad luck?”
“Yes,” said I, “bad enough, and ill usage.”
“Ah, I suppose they caught ye; well, child, never mind, better luck next time; I am glad to see you.”
“Thank you,” said I, sitting down on the stone bench; “I thought you had left the bridge—why have you changed your side?”
The old woman shook.
“What is the matter with you,” said I; “are you ill?”
“No, child, no; only—”
“Only what? Any bad news of your son?”
“No, child, no; nothing about my son. Only low, child—every heart has its bitters.”