“Perhaps, then, I am bewitched,” said Insie; “or why should I stop to talk with you, who are only a rude boy, after all, even according to your own account?”
“Well, you can go if you like. I suppose you live in that queer little place down there?”
“The house is quite good enough for me and my father and mother and brother Maunder. Good-by; and please never to come here again.”
“You don't understand me. I have made you cry. Oh, Insie, let me have hold of your hand. I would rather make anybody cry than you. I never liked anybody so before.”
“Cry, indeed! Who ever heard me cry? It is the way you splashed the water up. I am not in the habit of crying for a stranger. Good-by, now; and go to your great people. You say that you are bad; and I fear it is too true.”
“I am not bad at all. It is only what everybody says, because I never want to please them. But I want to please you. I would give anything to do it; if you would only tell me how.”
The girl having cleverly dried her eyes, poured all their bright beauty upon him, and the heart of the youth was enlarged with a new, very sweet, and most timorous feeling. Then his dark eyes dropped, and he touched her gently, and only said, “Don't go away.”
“But I must go away,” Insie answered, with a blush, and a look as of more tears lurking in her eyes. “I have stopped too long; I must go away at once.”
“But when may I come again? I will hold you, and fight for you with everybody in the world, unless you tell me when to come again.”
“Hush! I am quite ashamed to hear you talk so. I am a poor girl, and you a great young gentleman.”