The Romance of a Water-Lily. 137

 

the old farmer appeared on the threshold, crustier
than ever because the rheumatics in his knees bid
fair to prevent him from getting down to the ale-house,
she caught up a broom and began sweeping the
terrace as though her life depended on it.

“Ay, thou canst be busy enough when any one’s
by,” growled the old fellow, “and when no one is
looking thou art like a natural with thy dumb, silly
ways. If thy mother were alive, thou’d be ashamed
to be sick of love for a lad thou shouldst be too
proud to set eyes on. But I’ve spared the rod and
spoiled the child.”

“Ay, I’m too proud to wed for riches, as some
maids do,” retorted Salome.. “I’d rather have a lad
that was honest and brave, let him be who he may.”

“Brave!” growled the old man, who was sore
against Michael yet, though in his secret heart he
loved his daughter too well to discharge him—albeit
he scarce deemed him good enough for her; “dost
call a lad brave who can’t face a bit of rock?”

Salome’s pale face flushed. “I pray thee let me