"Well, yes, you're right. Madeleine is never out of my mind," answered George thoughtfully. "I was saying to myself that, if there are plenty of weeds over there" (and he pointed to the uncultivated moor with his goad), "there is good soil as well, and that any one who had time to clear even a corner of it might buy the girl he was engaged to——"
"A gold ring!"
"How did you guess what I meant? You don't come from Chêneau, where all the wizards live," laughed George.
"No witchcraft in that, nephew. The other day I saw how unhappy you were that you could only give Madeleine a leaden ring, and I was just as sorry myself that I couldn't buy her a better one ... and ever since I've been trying to think of a way...."
"And have you found one, father?"
"You've found it for me, lad. I shall make a clearing of a bit of the moor."
Even at the risk of offending his future uncle, the young labourer could not help smiling.
"That's a task for stronger arms than yours, father," he said. "No one can beat you at cutting birch branches and making them into brooms. But that doesn't need so much muscle as digging up soil like this, pulling up the great roots out of it, or smashing and carrying away huge boulders of rock. Ah, if only I had not given my word to stay with my master till I am married!"
"You may laugh at me, lad, but I won't bear malice," said the old man. "If the old are not so strong as the young, they are more persevering. I shall clear a bit of the moor, and with the money from my first harvest we will go and buy the ring. Good-bye, lad."
"Good-bye, father; we shall see you doing wonders before long, I know."