“Do you remember,” said Swanhilda at last, using her native tongue, “the first day I came here, how there came a terrible sound that made me miserably frightened? I have never heard it since then. What was it?”
“Only a rusty axle; at least, so I suppose. That careless David had forgotten to oil it properly. But I gave him such a scolding that there has been no more trouble.”
“David is not careless—he works very hard, and I love him,” retorted Swanhilda, tossing back her yellow hair. “Besides, such a noise could not be made by an axle.”
“You may like David, but you mustn’t love him; you are a little princess, and he is only the housekeeper’s son.”
“What is the difference between loving and liking?” inquired Swanhilda, folding her hands in her lap, and turning round on her companion.
He took her hand and answered, “I shall teach you that when you are older.”
“I am not so young as you think. I am old enough to be taught now.”
“No, no, no!” said Gloam, shaking his head and laughing; “you are nothing but a child yet. There is plenty of time, little water-nymph.”
“If you will not teach me, I’ll find someone else who will teach me. I will ask David; he has taught me some things already.”
“He? What have you learnt from him?” cried Gloam.