“Oh, you did, did you—without my leave?”
“Oh, father—father,” cried the girl, sobbing, “don’t—don’t be angry with me!”
“Not I, Polly,” he cried, bending down and kissing her. “Only I don’t know anything, and I don’t want to know anything, mind.”
“And you’re not cross about it?”
“I’m not cross about anything; but I shall be if I don’t have a mug of cider, for I’ve been thinking, and thinking’s thirsty work.”
“Then you had been thinking that—”
“Never you mind what I had been thinking, my lass. My thoughts are mine, and your thoughts are yours, so keep ’em to yourself. When I’ve had my drop o’ cider, I think I shall go out for a ride.”
“Oh father!” cried the girl.
The old man chuckled.
“Don’t you tell me that the pony has gone out, too,” he said. “There, it’s all right, Polly, only I don’t know anything, and I won’t be told.”