Paul made light of it, at first. "She has known me too long to take up her head with a new-comer," said he. "To be sure I never asked her to name the day; but she knows my mind well enough, and I know hers."
"Then you know more than I do," said the mother, ironically.
He thought over this conversation, and very wisely determined not to run unnecessary risks. He came up one afternoon, and hunted about for Mercy, till he found her milking a cow in the adjoining paddock.
"Well, lass," said he, "I've good news for thee. My old dad says we may have his house to live in. So now you and I can yoke next month if ye will."
"Me turn the honest man out of his house!" said Mercy, mighty innocently.
"Who asks you? He nobbut bargains for the chimney-corner: and you are not the girl to begrudge the old man that."
"O no, Paul. But what would father do if I were to leave his house? Methinks the farm would go to rack and ruin; he is so wrapped up in his nasty public."
"Why, he has got a helper, by all accounts: and if you talk like that, you will never wed at all."
"Never is a big word. But I'm too young to marry yet. Jenny, thou jade, stand still."
The attack and defence proceeded upon these terms for some time; and the defendant had one base advantage; and used it. Her forehead was wedged tight against Jenny's ribs, and Paul could not see her face. This, and the feminine evasiveness of her replies, irritated him at last.