decent creature always, an' steady as his own oxen what pulls the
plough. An' when he's gone, if go he must, I'll look arter you an'
Mr. Robin, an' please God, I'll dance your babies on my old knees--"
Here she broke off and turned her head away. Innocent ran to her,
surprised.

"Why, Priscilla, you're crying!" she exclaimed--Don't do that! Why
should you cry?"

"Why indeed!" blubbered Priscilla--"Except that I'm a doiterin'
fool! I can't abear the thoughts of you turnin' yer back on the
good that God gives ye, an' floutin' Mr. Robin, who's the best
sort o' man that ever could fall to the lot of a little tender
maid like you--why, lovey, you don't know the wickedness o' this
world, nor the ways of it--an' you talks about love as if it was
somethin' wonderful an' far away, when here it is at yer very feet
for the pickin' up! What's the good of all they books ye've bin
readin' if they don't teach ye that the old knight you're fond of
got so weary of the world that arter tryin' everythin' in turn he
found nothin' better than to marry a plain, straight country wench
and settle down in Briar Farm for all his days? Ain't that the
lesson he's taught ye?"

She paused, looking hopefully at the girl through her tears--but
Innocent's small fair face was pale and calm, though her eyes
shone with a brilliancy as of suppressed excitement.

"No," she said--"He has not taught me that at all. He came here to
'seek forgetfulness'--so it is said in the words he carved on the
panel in his study,--but we do not know that he ever really