I was thus employed when all at once the leaves on the opposite side of the brook were parted and a girl-child appeared. For a long moment we eyed each other across the brook, then all at once her pretty lips curved to a smile.
"Little maid," says I, furtively thrusting the knife into my belt, "art not afraid of me then?"
"Nay!" she answered, smiling yet and shaking her golden head.
"And why?"
"I do like your eyes, big man, kind eyes they be!"
"Are they?" says I, glancing from her smiling innocence into the brook.
"Aye, and your voice—I do like that too—'tis low and soft—like father's."
"And who's your father?"
"He be th' blacksmith."
"How old are you?"