“Did you dream, lass?” she asked, inquisitively.
Bess looked serious of a sudden and colored, though her face hardly betrayed any deepening flush. She was still puzzling over the face of the man she had seen in her dream, and yet the girl was not in a mood to confess to Mother Ursula in the matter.
“Not I,” she said, laughing, and taking a rough cloth from a drawer and spreading it on the oak table.
“Not of David?”
“Why should I dream of David, mother?”
Ursula frowned, and mumbled over the pan. Isaac’s youngest son was her favorite, a tall, flaxen-polled stripling, with a merry face and good-humored blue eyes. Ursula did not love Black Dan. He was too big and masterful, too surly, too much of a great bully.
Bess had spread the cloth.
“Dan came and threw stones at my window,” she said, suddenly.
“Hey!”
“I told him I wouldn’t have climbed out of bed to see his ugly face.”