myself down within this greeny bower and fell to
watching the hurrying waters of this brook and hearkening to its drowsy
murmur. And lying thus, with the good green world around me, the sunny
air blithe with the mellow piping of birds and the soft wind rustling
the leaves about me--what must I have in mind but bloodshed and the
destruction of my enemy, insomuch that reaching a stone from the brook
I drew the knife from my girdle and set about straightening the blade
thereof.

I was thus employed when all at once the leaves on the opposite side of
the brook were parted and a girl-child appeared. For a long moment we
eyed each other across the brook, then all at once her pretty lips
curved to a smile.

"Little maid," says I, furtively thrusting the knife into my belt, "art
not afraid of me then?"

"Nay!" she answered, smiling yet and shaking her golden head.

"And why?"

"I do like your eyes, big man, kind eyes they be!"

"Are they?" says I, glancing from her smiling innocence into the brook.

"Aye, and your voice--I do like that too--'tis low and soft--like
father's."

"And who's your father?"

"He be th' blacksmith."

"How old are you?"

"Seven, an' a big maid I be. Will 'ee aid me 'cross t'brook, now?"

So I lifted her over and there we sat, side by side, she laughing and
talking and I hearkening to her childish prattle with marvellous great
pleasure. Presently I ventured to touch her soft cheek, to stroke her
curls, and finding she took this not amiss, summoned courage to stoop
and kiss her.

How long we had sat thus I know not, when I was aroused by a shrill,
harsh voice and turning, beheld a bony woman who peered at us through
the leaves.

"Susan Ann!" she cried. "O you Susan, come away! Come quick or I'll
run for your mother."

"The child is safe enough!" says I, frowning, but clasping the small
damsel closer within my arm.

"Safe?" cries the woman, turning on me in fury. "Safe--aye, for sooth,
wi' a great, ill rogue the like o' you! Loose her--loose her or I'll
scream and rouse the village on ye for a wild gipsy wastrel that ye
are!" And here the old harridan railed at me until the child whimpered
for fear and even I blenched before the woman's fierce aspect and
shrewish tongue. Then, while she loaded me with abuse, a ceaseless
torrent (and no lack of breath), I kissed the little maid's tear-wetted
cheek and, setting her back across the brook, stood to watch until the
child and wo