"Then run away, Greeba ven—run."
The little maiden took her father at his word, though it was but sadly spoken, and bounded off in chase of Michael Sunlocks, that she might tell him the great news. She found him by the old wooden bridge of the Silver Burn near the Malew Church.
Michael Sunlocks had lately struck up a fast friendship with the carrier, old crazy Chalse A'Killey, who sometimes lent him his donkey for a ride. Bareheaded, barefooted, with breeches rolled up above the knees, his shoes and stockings swung about his neck, and his wavy yellow hair rough and tangled, Michael Sunlocks was now seated bareback on this donkey, tugging the rope that served it for curb and snaffle, and persuading it, by help of a blackthorn stick, to cross the river to the meadow opposite. And it was just when the donkey, a creature of becoming meekness and most venerable age, was reflecting on these arguments, and contemplating the water at his shoes with a pensive eye, that Greeba, radiant in the happiness of her marvellous hat, came skipping on to the bridge.
In a moment she blurted out her news between many gusts of breath, and Michael Sunlocks, pausing from his labors, sat on his docile beast and looked up at her with great wonder in his wide blue eyes.
"And I shall see the carriages, and the ladies on horseback, and the ships, and the waxworks, and the wild beasts."
The eyes of Sunlocks grew hazy and wet, but the little maiden rattled on, cocking her eye down as she spoke at her reflection in the smooth river, for it took a world of glances to grow familiar with the marvel that sat on her head.
"And I shall wear velvet frocks, and have new hats often and lots of goodies and things; and—and didn't I always say a good fairy would come for me some day?"
"What are you talking of, you silly?" said Michael Sunlocks.
"I'm not a silly, and I'm going away, and you are not; and I'll have girls to play with now, not boys—there!"
Michael Sunlocks could bear no more. His eyes overflowed, but his cheeks reddened, and he said—