I pushed my hand down for it, and then laughed louder than ever, as I drew forth my dumpy little Virgil.
"Item," I concluded, "the works of the divine master, P. Vergilius Maro, hidden in my pocket by that mischievous minx and monkey, Kate Wheatman of the Hanyards." And I told the story.
"Then if Kate had not hidden your beloved Virgil, you would not have gone fishing?"
"I'm sure I shouldn't."
"Life turns on trifles, Master Wheatman, and to a pretty girl's sisterly jest I owe everything that has happened since I first saw you on the river bank."
"We owe it, madam," I corrected gently, and I turned to go on, for I saw that she was moved and troubled at the evil she thought she had brought on me. Evil! I was enjoying every breath I drew and every step I took, and my heart was like a live coal in the midst of my bosom.
"Have no fear, Mistress Margaret," said I cheerfully, sweeping my hand out. "There's broad Staffordshire before us, a goodly land full of meat and malt and money, and we'll have our share of it."
"But you'll have to steal it for me."
"'Convey the wise it call," "I quoted.
"That's better," and she smiled up at me in the moonlight. "Virgil puts you right above my poor wits, but say you love Shakespeare too, and we shall have one of the great things of life in common."