“I take it very kind o’ ye to be so feelin’,” said Olf. “I could wish we could have got wed, my maid. I’d ha’ been a lovin’ husband, and I d’ ’low you’d ha’ been a lovin’ wife.”
“I would,” sobbed Kitty.
“But there, ’tis all over, bain’t it? I be nothin’ but a poor chap earnin’ of a poor wage. You be a vitty maid too good for the likes o’ me. I’ll never have a wife now.”
“I don’t see that,” said Kitty, in a low voice. She was hanging her head and drawing patterns with the point of her shoe in the sandy soil.
Olf stared at her, and then repeated his statement. “A poor man earnin’ of a poor wage, Kitty. I’ll never have a wife.”
“Why not?” said Kitty, almost inarticulately. “Many poor men get wed, Olf.”
Olf caught his breath with a gasp. “Kitty,” he cried, “Kitty, do ye mean you’d take me now wi’out no fortun’, and just as I be? You’d never take me now, Kitty?”
“I would,” said Kitty, and she hid her face on his patched shoulder and burst into tears.
“Then I don’t care about nothin’,” cried Olf valiantly. “If you would really like it, Kitty, say no more.”
“I would,” said Kitty again. And then raising her head, she smiled at him through her tears. “But don’t tell nobody I axed ye,” said she.