“Oh, an’ are you, Kitty?” said he.
“E-es,” said Kitty, nodding emphatically.
Olf eyed her thoughtfully, and then his eyes reverted to the cows, which, after the perverse manner of their kind, were nibbling at the quickset hedge over the way.
“Who-ope, who-ope,” he called warningly, and then once more glanced at Kitty. “We’ll talk about that ’ere when I come back,” he remarked, and sauntered forth pulling the rickety gate to after him.
Kitty paused a moment with a puzzled look, and then, being a philosophical young person, picked up her pail and betook herself indoors.
She had finished a somewhat perfunctory breakfast, and was on her knees scrubbing the doorstep when Olf returned. She heard his footfall crossing the yard, but did not look round, neither did she glance up when his shadow fell upon the sunlit flags. After the necessary pause for adjustment of his ideas, Olf broke the silence.
“You’d be willin’ to take me?” said he.
“E-es,” returned Kitty, without raising her head.
Olf paused a moment, then—“You’d like to marry me, would ye, Kitty?”
“E-es,” said Kitty again.