“I see it well,” answered Edward, the tear standing in his eye.
“And what is your name—and yours—and yours?”
The little innocents told their names. Edward’s heart leaped at the well-known sounds.
“And what is your name, my dear?” said he to a pretty girl, somewhat older than the rest, who hung back shyly, and held the hand of a ruddy, white-headed boy, just breeched.
“It is Rose Walsingham, and this is my younger brother, Roger.”
“Walsingham!” Edward clasped the girl round the neck, and surprised her with two or three very close kisses. He then lifted up little Roger, and almost devoured him. Roger seemed as if he wanted to be set down again, but Edward told him he would carry him home.
“And can you show me the house you live at, Rose?” said Edward.
“Yes—it is just there, beside the pond, with the great barn before it, and the orchard behind.”
“And will you take me home with you, Rose?”
“If you please,” answered Rose, hesitatingly.