When I came down into the kitchen where, bare of arms and throat, she stood a-churning, she looked at me out of partly-lowered eyes, as though doubting my mood—poor child. And I saw the sweat on her flushed cheeks, and her yellow hair, in disorder from the labour, all curled into damp little ringlets. But when I smiled I saw that lovely glimmer dawning, and she asked me shyly what I did there—for never before had I come into her kitchen.
So, still smiling, I gave an account of how I had bought Summer House; and she listened, wide-eyed, wondering.
"But," continued I, "I have already my own glebe at Fonda's Bush, and a house; but there be many with whom fortune has not been so complacent, and who possess neither glebe nor roof, yet deserve both."
"Yes, sir," she said, smiling, "there be many such folk and always will be in the world. Of such company am I, also, but it saddens me not at all."
I went to her and showed her my deed, and she looked down on it, her hands clasped on the churn handle.
"So that," said she, "is a lawful deed! I have never before been shown such an instrument."
"You shall have leisure enough to study this one," said I, "for I convey it to you."
"Sir?"
"I give Summer House to you," said I. "Here is the deed. When I go to Johnstown again I will execute it so that this place shall be yours."
She gazed at me in dumb astonishment.