“If you are displeased with your master should you not look for another occupation?” said the Philosopher.
“I was thinking of that, and I was thinking whether I ought to kill him or marry his daughter. She would have passed me by as her father did, but I would not let a woman do that to me: no man would.”
“What did you do to her?” said the Philosopher.
The young man chuckled “I did not look at her the first time, and when she came near me the second time I looked another way, and on the third day she spoke to me, and while she stood I looked over her shoulder distantly. She said she hoped I would be happy in my new home, and she made her voice sound pleasant while she said it; but I thanked her and turned away carelessly.”
“Is the girl beautiful?” said the Philosopher.
“I do not know,” he replied; “I have not looked at her yet, although now I see her everywhere. I think she is a woman who would annoy me if I married her.”
“If you haven’t seen her, how can you think that?”
“She has tame feet,” said the youth. “I looked at them and they got frightened. Where have you travelled from, sir?”
“I will tell you that,” said the Philosopher, “if you will tell me your name.”
“It is easily told,” he answered; “my name is MacCulain.”