Cheap Jack Zita

by S. Baring-Gould

'So you see, Zit,' he said, pointing into space, 'the thorn leaves be fallin',—scores o' thousands,—and the green leaves will come and bring profits.'

'What you see is snow that is coming down, father.'

'No, Zit. It's the thorns sheddin' their white flowers to grow profits. Fall, fall, fall away, white leaves.'

He remained silent for a while, and then began to pluck at his daughter with the hand that clasped her waist.

'What is it, father?'

'I ain't easy.'

'Shall I lift your head higher?'

' 'Tain't that. It's in my mind, Zit.'

'What troubles you, dad?'