So next morning Nannie took her departure, back to her little farm in the pine forest. But pussy had no such intention. She had quite recovered the effects of her late incineration; and had got a complete new coat of the silkiest fur. Besides, she had taken quite a fancy to the miller,—for here again cats are like women: allow them to nurse and attend you when ill, and they are sure to love you. There were water-rats to catch in the dam, mice in the mill, and plenty of trout in the mill-lead, and this cat was madly fond of sport,—so she stayed.
Nannie was right about the miller’s recovery. Every day he extended his walk a little farther, and by-and-by was quite able to superintend matters at the mill.
Well, one fine morning, when the country-side was busy laying down the turnips, John, dressed in his best, with a smart cane in his hand,—for the day was to be big with his fate,—took the road and shaped his course for Nannie’s farm. Mind you, all the time that Nannie was nursing him, John never breathed a word of his love for her or his hopes for the future,—he was much too honourable to take so unfair an advantage.
Nannie was busy in her little garden; and either the pleasure of meeting the miller, or the excitement of labour had flushed her cheeks, and made her look very pretty indeed.
“I just came over to help you with the garden a bit,” said John,—the hypocrite! “for thanks to you, Nannie, I’m just as strong as a young colt.”
So they worked in the garden most industriously all day, just like a second edition of Adam and Eve; and at sunset Nannie set out to convoy the miller through the pine wood. Now, although they had both been chattering all day like a couple of magpies, neither now had a word to say. Nevertheless they took the path as if by instinct, that led down into the hazel-copse that overlooked the wimpling Don. There were yellow primroses growing here, and wild sorrel, and a mossy bank; and on this our lovers sat.
“Ah!” said John, “it does seem strange, but this is the very spot where we parted years ago,—and in anger, dear lassie.”
Nannie was silent.
“You’ll marry me now; won’t you?” continued John.
A soft warm hand placed in his, was the reply; a wee mouth held up to kiss, and a face all wet with tears. What little fools women are, to be sure!