"Faith, my dear, the men come nearer to the truth than the women."
"They say not," replied the maiden, "I have heard, and sometimes I have read in good books—at least, they called them good books—that you mustn't believe the men."
"And why should you not?"
"I don't well know why not," returned the girl doubtingly, "but I am young, and maybe I shall find it out by and by."
"God forbid," said Butler, "that you should ever gain that experience! But there are many toils spread for the feet of innocence in this world, and it is well to have a discreet eye and good friends."
"I am seventeen, sir," replied Mary, "come next month; and though I have travelled backwards and forwards from here to Ennoree, and once to Camden, which, you know, sir, is a good deal of this world to see, I never knew anybody that thought harm of me. But I don't dispute there are men to be afraid of, and some that nobody could like. And yet I think a good man can be told by his face."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes. My father is a good man, and every one says you may see it in his looks."
"I should like to know your father," said Butler.
"I am sure he would be glad to know you, sir."