"I would I were a man," said she, glancing at him rather timidly.
"How, then? What, now?"
"For then," said she, "might I help you in your work, so please you, sir."
He laughed, and said:
"My work? What know you of that, wench?"
The blood rushed to her face.
"Nay, sir, I but meant the work of the fields—in going about with the bailiff and the like. The maids say you were abroad at five this morning."
"Well, is't not the pleasantest time of the day in this hot weather?" he said—and he seemed amused by her interference.
"But why should you give yourself so many cares, good father?" she made bold to say (for she had been meditating the saying of it for many a day back). "You that have great fame, and land, and wealth. We would fain see you rest a little more, father; and 'tis all the harder to us that we can give you no help, being but women-folk."
There was something in the tone of her voice—or perhaps in her eyes—that conveyed more than her words. He put his hand on her head.