“Well, then you have done wrong!” said the shepherd, sternly. “What right had ye to take gold watches from gentlemen as ye dursen’t let your mother see. It bain’t a very nice story, that. Who is the gentleman?” he added fiercely. “What did he give ye the watch for?”
Standing up to the hurdle he seized the girl by the wrists, pinioning her fast.
“Lard, Timothy! Don’t pinch me so vicious—you be hurtin’ I. There, ’twas a actin’ gentleman what come wi’ a lot o’ others to the town in the summer. They was actin’ a play at the Corn Exchange, wi’ a lot o’ singin’ and dancin’ in it. This one was the head o’ the actin’ folks. I went there along o’ father, and he said he see’d me all the time the play was goin’ on—”
“Your father said that?” queried Timothy, sharply.
“No, the actin’ gentleman. He come upon me the next day, walkin’ along the lane and singin’—as I mid be the first day you did talk to I—and he did stop and speak.”
“What did he say?” growled Timothy, tightening his grip upon her wrists.
“Oh, he axed I a lot of questions, and he did say I wer’ a very pretty girl, and he did ax I would I like to be a fairy?”
“It was him said that,” interrupted the shepherd. “I never thought there was a word o’ truth in the tale.”
“There was, though. He meant a play-actin’ fairy, o’ course. He said all I’d have to do was to sing a bit, and dance a bit, and look nice, and I’d get a lot of money and see the world too.”
“So he said, and what did you say?” asked Timothy, as she paused.