Kit knew a statesman is a yeoman farmer, owning the soil he cultivates, and he smiled.
“Mrs. Carson is not my aunt; I doubt if she’d admit I am her sort, and my fortune is sixty pounds. Perhaps for Alison to marry me would be rash, but I’ve got a good job and I know her pluck.”
“It’s for t’lass to choose,” said Mrs. Tyson. “You’ll find her by t’beck.”
Kit went along a stony lane. The splash of water got louder, and by and by Alison, carrying a large bucket, pushed back a gate. Her clothes were cotton print and she wore a blue sun-bonnet. When she saw Kit she stopped, and her color came and went. Kit put the bucket on the wall and held the gate.
“I think you know I love you, Alison.”
“You did not tell me properly, Kit; but I did know,” said Alison in a quiet voice.
“Then why did you let me go to Netherhall? You had heard about the marriage my relations planned.”
“I thought you ought to go,” Alison replied, and gave Kit a level glance. “If you had not gone, you would always have been sorry. Besides, I’d hate to think I tempted you to shabbiness.”
“You are very proud, my dear, but I like your pride. Well, you tried me out, and now you ought to be kind, because the test was hard. In a week or two I must go back and get to work. Will you marry me before I start?”
“Are you altogether sure you want me, Kit?”