Yet I hoped that I should find thee, though the night be dark and drear,
Knowing that thou lov’st to wander where no prying men are near.”
Dumb, abashed stood little Thora, and her cheeks were flaming red;
Nervously she twirled her apron,[993] and she hung her pretty head,
Till at length she gathered courage and she whispered breathlessly:
“Mother, dear,[994] I love him truly, and he says that he loves me.”
“Lord ’a mercy on us, daughter!”[995] solemnly the dame replied;
“I who have the maids invited that they might thy choice decide;
For of men there are so many[996]—stout and slender, short and tall—
How’s a maid to choose among them, since she cannot love them all?”