"You, sir!" she exclaimed, and blushed enchantingly under the pearly dew
that covered her face. "One of our cows broke pasture in the night and
we think she must have crossed the creek and got over on your side of
the meadow. She's a wonderful jumper. We'll have to be hobbling her
soon, I reckon."

"Do you milk?" he asked, charmed by the mental picture of so noble a
dairymaid.

"Except when grandma is well enough. You can't leave it to the darkies
because they are such terrible slatterns. Put a cow in their hands and
she's sure to go dry before three months are over."

She looked up at him, while the little brown mole played hide and seek
with a dimple.

"Have you ever been told that you are beautiful, Miss Keren-happuch?" he
inquired with a laugh.

Her pale eyes, like frosted periwinkles, dropped softly beneath his
gaze.

"How can you think so, sir, when you have seen so many city ladies?"

"I've seen many, but not one so lovely as you are this morning with the
frost on your cheeks."

"I'm not dressed. I just slip on any old thing to go milking."