“Well, Jacky?”
Jacky hesitated—she did not know how to go on, so she repeated: “If ye please, Miss Anne—” and stopped again.
“What is it, Jacky?” said Anne, “tell me.”
“If ye please, will ye let me go with ye, Miss Anne?” said Jacky, in a burst. “I ken how to—to behave mysel, and to attend to a lady, and I’ll never give ye ony trouble, and I’ll do whatever I’m bidden. Oh, Miss Anne, will ye let me go?”
“What has put that into your head, Jacky?” exclaimed Anne.
Jacky could not tell what had put it into her head, inasmuch as any explanation might have shown Anne that the singular elf before her had, by some intuition peculiar to herself, made very tolerable progress in the study of those important matters which of late had occupied so much of their thoughts, and hopes, and consultations in Merkland and the Tower: so she merely repeated:
“Oh, if ye please, Miss Anne, will ye let me go?”
Anne was somewhat puzzled.
“You are too young to be my maid, Jacky,” she said.
“Oh, if ye please, Miss Anne, I ken how to do—and I’m no idle when there’s ony purpose for’t—and I aye do what I’m bidden, except—” Jacky hung her head, “except whiles.”