“I don’t know but what I will,” cried he. “Most maids ’ud give ye a kind word back when ye speak ’em fair, and ’ud say thank ye when ye do make ’em a present, and ’ud not go for to rub their cheeks after their sweetheart had given them a kiss.”
This was indeed an offence which Rebecca committed but too often. She darted from him now, and, approaching the bank, made two little upward springs at the hedge, bringing down with each a small trophy. One was a wild rose, the other a tuft of sweetbriar.
“Look ye, David,” said she, “which do ye like best of these two?”
“The sweetbriar o’ course,” cried he, recovering his spirits at once at what he took to be a sign of softening on her part, and his face wreathing itself with smiles as he stretched out his hand for the little sprig.
Rebecca waited till he had taken hold of it, and then with a sudden malicious squeeze of both her little hands, pressed his fingers close about the prickly stem.
“Ha’ done,” cried he in real displeasure, “that were a spiteful trick and one as I didn’t expect from ’ee, Rebecca. I d’ ’low I will go off and ha’ done wi’ it.”
As he spoke, however, he fastened the bit of sweetbriar in his button-hole. Rebecca laughed and pointed to it.
“Sweetbriar has twice so many thorns as wild rose,” said she, “but ye like it best for all that. An’ if ye do go a-courtin’ any other maid ’twill be just the same. Ye’ll come back to I.”
Taking hold of the lappet of his coat she sniffed at the little sprig.
“Bain’t it sweet?” said she.