"You did!" grunted Guardy. "Humph! humph! humph!"
"Don't take it so much to heart, Guardy. No use grieving—'specially as the grief might settle in your poor afflicted leg—limb, I mean."
"And may I ask, young lady, what you could possibly want with him?" said the squire, sternly.
"Oh, fifty things! He's my beau, you know."
"Your beau!—your beau!—your BEAU! My conscience!"
"Yes, sir, we're engaged."
"You are? 'Oh, Jupiter,' as Solomon says. Pray, madam (for such I presume you consider yourself), when will you be twelve years old?"
"Oh, as soon as I can. I don't want to be an old maid."
"So it seems, you confounded little Will-o'-the-wisp. And will you be good enough to inform us how this precious engagement came about?" said the squire, with a savage frown.
"With pleasure, sir. You see, we went out to gather grapes in the wood one day, and we had a splendiferous time. And says I, 'Archie, ain't this nice?'—and says he 'Yes'—and says I, 'Wouldn't it be nice if we'd get married?'—and says he, 'Yes'—and says I, 'Will you have me, though?'—and says he, 'Yes'—and says I——"