"I know you are a good girl, Molly," he observed staidly, "that is why I
am so anxious to be your friend."

"Is there nothing more that I can do for you?" she inquired, with frigid
reserve, as she took up the lantern.

"Yes, one thing--you can shake hands."

The expression of indignant surprise appeared again in her face, and she
fell back a step, shaking her head stubbornly as she did so.

"I'd rather not--if you don't mind," she answered.

"But if I do mind--and I do."

"Still I'd rather not."

"Do you really dislike me as much as you dislike the miller?"

"More."

"Or the rector?"

"Oh, far more. You are a Gay."

"Yes, I am a Gay," he might have retorted, "and you, my pretty savage,
are very much a Gay, also."

Swinging the lantern in her hand, she moved to the door, as if she were