“Hey, young love! Ho, young love!
Where do you tarry?”
“I was hiding on the other side of the wall. I came at once. And all I get for my pains and the risk to a fairly new pair of breeches is a blow and a denial.”
“You may get more if you remain.”
“I hope so. I had not come else.”
“But it’ll be as little to your liking.”
“That’s as may be. Meanwhile there’s this matter of a blow. Now a blow is a thing I take from nobody. For a man there is my sword....”
“Your sword!” She abandoned herself to laughter. “And you don’t even own a penknife.”
“Oh, yes I do. I own a sword. It was a gift from my father to-day—a birthday gift. I am nineteen to-day, Nan.”
“How fast you grow! You’ll be a man soon. And so your father has given you a sword?” She leaned against the bole of a tree, and surveyed him archly. “That was very rash of your father. You’ll be cutting yourself, I know.”