If the time had been longer since I had seen her, I think I might have been tempted to reply from China or some distant port, as her laughter galled me sharply. But as it was, I answered her somewhat falteringly, to be sure,
"From up there," pointing with my fingers toward the north.
"How did you get away from Gaston?" she asked.
At the mention of the old man's name I could not help but give a glance over my shoulder, at which Mary laughed and asked another question.
"Where did you get those outlandish clothes?"
"I'm a sailor," I replied, giving a hitch to my trousers.
"Oh no, you're not," said Mary, throwing back her head. "You're a boy."
"I wish you a good-morning, Mistress Tanner," I replied, making an effort to pull off the tight-fitting Portugee cap, and only succeeding in giving my hair a tweaking. "Good-morning, Mistress Tanner; time has not improved your manners."
I walked away, angry. It is no evidence of superior wisdom on my part to here make an observation; but six months of a town life will change a woman and teach her more than five years spent on a hill-side farm, and this is no falsehood. I had gone but a few rods when I heard my name called, and, looking back, I saw Mary leaning over the fence and beckoning to me with a rose in her fingers. Affecting a great deal of leisure, I retraced my steps.
"Are you really going to sea?" she asked.