legs (good and bad) long-trousered for the first time in his
life, his fingers sparkling, his neck collared and his wrists
unimpeachably cuffed, his chest "used" in such a way as never, God
knows! had it swelled before. 'Twas with no desire to indulge his
uncle that he had managed these adornments. Indeed not! 'Twas a wish,
growing within his heart, to compass a winning and distinguished
appearance in the presence of the maid he loved.

By this magnificence the maid was abashed.

"Hello!" says I, as I swaggered past the steerage.

There was no response.

"Is you happy, child," says I, catching the trick of the thing from my
uncle, "along o' ol' Nick Top an' me an' John Cather?"

My tutor laughed.

"Eh, Judy?" says I.

The maid's glance was fallen in embarrassment upon her plate.

"Dannie," says my uncle, severely, "ye better get under way with your
feedin'."

The which, being at once hungry and obedient, I did: but presently,
looking up, caught the poor maid unself-conscious. She no longer
grieved--no longer sat sad and listless in her place. She was peering
greedily into the cabin, as my uncle was wont to do, her slim, white
neck something stretched and twisted (it seemed) to round a spreading
cluster of buttercups. 'Twas a moving thing to observe. 'Twas not a
shocking thing; 'twas a thing melting to the heart--'twas a thing,
befalling with a maid, at once to provide a lad with chivalrous
opportunity. The eyes were the great, blue eyes of Judith--grave, wide
eyes, which, beneficently touching a lad, won reverent devotion,
flushed the heart with zeal for righteousness. They were Judith's
eyes, the same, as ever, in infinite depth of shadow, like the round
sky at night, the same in light, like the stars that shine therein,
the same in black-lashed mystery, like the firmament God made with His
own hand. But still 'twas with a most marvellously gluttonous glance
that she eyed the roast of fresh meat on the table before me. 'Twas no
matter to _me_, to be sure! for a lad's love is not so easily
alienated: 'tis an actual thing--not depending upon a neurotic
idealization: therefore not to be disillusioned by these natural
appearances.

"Judy," says I, most genially, "is you ever tasted roast veal?"

She was much abashed.

"Is you never," I repeated, "tasted roast veal?"

"No, sir," she whispered.

"'_Sir_!'" cries I, astounded. "'Sir!'" I gasped. "Maid," says I, now
in wrathful amazement forgetting her affl