He duly sat on the wall outside the church on the following day, and escorted Miss Whiteside home, feeling somewhat ashamed of himself, as he noted her chastened air and heard the heavy sigh which now and then escaped from her.
That afternoon, however, her continued affability emboldened him to make a request on his own account. It was such a lovely day, and he was free—would not Miss Whiteside go for a walk with him? Jinny, startled, began to refuse with her usual abruptness, but checked herself midway, and consented instead.
They strolled out together along a narrow path, which led past meadows and cornfields to a little wood. While they sat there, resting on a mossy bank, the church bells began to ring, now on one side of them, now on the other. Luke glanced sarcastically at his companion.
“I reckon yo’re wishin’ yo’rself theer an’ not here?”
Jinny looked up with a start.
“Wheer?” she asked, and turned very red. Luke stared, laughed, and then suddenly grew serious, blushing too. Silence reigned for a moment and then he said:
“I doubt I’d best tell yo’ why I’m so set again church-goin’. ’Tisn’t altogether along o’ not wishin’ to be put upon. When I were a young chap a parson comed between me an’ the lass I were a-coortin’.”
“Oh, indeed,” said Jinny distantly.
“Ah, he did. She was a sarvent lass an’ couldn’t get out above once a fortnight. I didn’t see so mich on her I could afford to lose the time she spent in church, and parson he barged at her for not goin’. Well, I geet my back set up along of it, an’ I towd her one day she mun mind me an’ not parson. Well she wouldn’t, so I gave up a-walkin’ wi’ her, an’ she took up wi’ another chap, an’ I promised mysel’ I’d never go to church again as long as I lived—an’ I’ve kept my word.”
“Well, if yo’ll excuse me, I think yo’re nothing but a noddy!” cried Jinny, with decidedly more vinegar than honey in her tone. She sprang to her feet, shaking out her dress.