Sinth ate in silence for a moment and remarked, dreamily, "Men are awful cur'is critters when they git love in 'em."
For a little, one might have heard only the chatter of the children and the barking of Zeb. By-and-by the maiden said, "I am sure that Mr. Master is—is a good man."
"No nicer in the world," Sinth answered. "Pleasant spoke, an' he don't set around as if he wanted ye t' breathe fer him. He'll be a good provider, too."
After a few moments the children took their cake and went away to share it with Zeb and the tame crow.
"Do you—do you think he would care to see me again?" Edith Dunmore asked, blushing and looking down as she touched a wild rose on her breast.
"'Course he would," Sinth answered, promptly. "Can't sleep nights, an' looks kind o' sick an' dreamy, like a man with a felon." Sinth looked into the eyes of the girl and added, soberly, "I guess you're in love with him fast enough."
"I do not know," said Miss Dunmore, with a sigh. "I—I know that all the light of the day is in his eyes—that I am lonely when I cannot find him."
Sinth nodded. "It's love," said she, decisively—"the real, genuwine, pure quill. Don't ye let him know it."
She sat looking down for a moment with a dreamy look in her eyes. "I know what 'tis," she went on, sadly. "Had a beau myself once. Went off t' the war." After a little pause she added, "He never come back—shot dead in battle." She began to pick up the dishes. Having stowed them in a pail, she turned and said, in a solemn manner: "He was goin' t' bring me a gold ring with a shiny purple stone in it. Not that I'd 'a' cared for that if I could have had him."
That old look of sickliness and resignation returned to the face of Sinth.