"The paint? Is't not painted? Where got you such a face, madam?"
"Father, you have undone my hair; and the parson is coming to dinner."
"Nay, I'll be sworn 'tis as honest a face as good Mother Nature ever made. This goodman Matthew hath belied you!"
"What said he of me?" she asked, with a flash of anger in her eyes.
Her father put his hand on her neck, and led her away.
"Nay, nay, come thy ways, lass; thou shalt pick me a handful of raspberries. And as for thine hair, let that be as God made it; 'tis even better so; and yet, methinks"—here he stopped, and passed his hand lightly once or twice over her head, so that any half-imprisoned curls were set free—"methinks," said he, regarding the pretty hair with considerable favor, "if you would as lief have some ornament for it, I saw that in London that would answer right well. 'Twas a net-work kind of cap; but the netting so fine you could scarce see it; and at each point a bead of gold. Now, Madame Vanity, what say you to that? Would you let your hair grow free as it is now, and let the sunlight play with it, were I to bring thee a fairy cap all besprinkled with gold?"
"I will wear it any way you wish, father, and right gladly," said she, "and I will have no cap at all if it please you."
"Nay, but you shall have the gossamer cap, wench; I will not forget it when next I go to London."
"I would you had never to go to London again," said she, rather timidly.
He regarded her for a second with a scrutinizing look, and there was an odd sort of smile on his face.