_Sentry_. Keep you your kine at home, you've land enough.

_Mrs. Secord_. Why, that's our land, and those our barns and sheds.

_Sentry_. Well, pass!

[_He suddenly observes the flowers_.

But where's your milking pail?
I guess the bunch of flowers is for the cow.

_Mrs. Secord_ (_gently_). You are too rough! The pinks weep
dewy tears
Upon my hand to chide you. There, take them;

[_She offers him the flowers_.

And let their fragrance teach you courtesy,
At least to women. You can watch me.

_Sentry_. Madam, suspicion blunts politeness. Pass.
I'll take your flowers, and thank you, too;
'Tis long since that I saw their fellows in
The old folks' garden.

(Mrs. Secord _crosses the road, takes a rail out of the fence, which
she replaces after having passed into the clearing, and proceeds to the
barn, whence she brings an old pail, luckily left there, and approaches
the cow_.)