"Boyd," I said abruptly. "Who is that handsome wench that followed us from Otsego?"
"Dolly Glenn?"
"That is her name."
"Lord, how she pesters me!" he said fretfully. "I chanced upon her at the Middle Fort one evening—down by the river. And what are our wenches coming to," he exclaimed impatiently, "that a kiss on a summer's night should mean to them more than a kiss on a night in summer!"
"She is a laundress, is she not?"
"How do I know? A tailoress, too, I believe, for she has patched and mended for me; and she madded me because she would take no pay. There are times," he added, "when sentiment is inconvenient——"
"Poor thing," I said.
"My God, why? When I slipped my arm around her she put up her face to be kissed. It was give and take, and no harm done—and the moon a-laughing at us both. And why the devil she should look at me reproachfully is more than I can comprehend."
"It seems a cruel business," said I.
"Cruel!"