in her bosom, after a fashion inherited from
her mother, and counted down the silver into my hand. I took it, for I
ever strove to bring up my children in the ways o' honesty; and certes
she had spoiled the contents o' the caldron by turning it into a
bath-tub for Master Mouldy. Well, 'twas th' talk o' th' village for full
a month; scarce did young Mouldy dare put out his nose from behind the
lattice o' his mother's cottage. But th' other lads seemed to fall more
daft about the lass than aye afore.

Now, my wife's sister had a daughter, called Ruth, and in all things was
she most different from my Keren. A'd a head as yellow as Keren's eyes,
and eyes as brown as Keren's skin, and a skin as white as Keren's teeth;
and a was slim and tender-looking, like a primrose that hath but just
ventured out on a day in early spring. Moreover, she was a timid,
sweet-voiced creature--the kind o' wench that makes even a weak man
feel strong, ye mind, comrade. But a was ne'er o'er-civil to my lass.
Neither did Keren waste much love upon her; she said from th' very start
that th' hussy had a sly tongue; "and a sly tongue," saith she, "doth
ever mate with a false heart," saith she; "and from such a marriage what
offspring can ye look for, unless it be for mischief?" saith she.

They had not much to do the one with the other, however, until the
coming of Robert Hacket to Pebworth. And a was as fine a lad as e'er
caused a lass to don her Sunday kirtle on a Saturday. 'Twas said as how
he had met with Ruth while that she was on a visit to her aunt in
Dancing Marston, and that he had come to Pebworth to wed with her. All
would 'a' been well had not it come to Keren's ears how that Mistress
Ruth said that she would bring Master Hacket to see her cousin Keren,
but that she did not want her sweetheart to be out with her family ere
that he had married into it; meaning neither more nor less than that my
Keren was a shame unto her name by reason o' her romping ways.

"The cat!" quoth Keren, waxing as red as any damask rose for very anger;
"the little, spiteful cat! But I'll cut her claws for her! Do thou bide
and mark me, father. Ay, I'll serve her and her Robert in such wise
they'll go to their graves remembering."

Now, 'twas the very next day that the lads and lasses o' the village did
crown her harvest-queen, and all Bidford was out to see 't. And very
queen she looked, too, borne aloft in a throne made all o' dark red
roses, and her dark cur