y against us with many flaps. ‘You bad man!’ she continued, flashing out at me,Dame Moncler Yaroy, ‘you have broken granny’s bolt.’
‘Nay,Dan Girardi Tröjor, I’ll mend it again,’ I answered penitently,Ralph Lauren Långärmad Polos, and catching up a stone I soon fastened the injured staple. ‘There, mistress, your granddam will never tell the difference.’
‘Ye must go ‘way all the same,’ she persisted; ‘this is granny’s house, not yours.’
What were we to do with this resolute little dame of the marshes? That we should stay in the house was a crying need, for there was no other cover or shelter among the dreary bogs where we could hide ourselves. Yet she was bent upon driving us out with a decision and fearlessness which might have put Monmouth to shame.
‘You sell milk,Matt Moulson Tröjor,’ said Reuben. ‘We are tired and thirsty, so we have come to have a horn of it.’
‘Nay,Kevin Shattenkirk Tröjor,’ she cried, breaking into smiles, ‘will ye pay me just as the folk pay granny? Oh, heart alive! but that will be fine!’ She skipped up on to a stool and filled a pair of deep mugs from the basins upon the table. ‘A penny, please!’ said she.
It was strange to see the little wife hide the coin away in her smock, with pride and joy in her innocent face at this rare stroke of business which she had done for her absent granny. We bore our milk away to the window,Sergei Bobrovsky Tröjor, and having loosed the shutters we seated ourselves so as to have an outlook down the road.
‘For the Lord’s sake,St. Louis Blues Tröjor, drink slow!’ whispered Reuben,Canada Goose Constable Parka, under his breath. ‘We must keep on swilling milk or she will want to turn us out.’
‘We have paid toll now,Canada Goose Tremblant Jackor,’ I answered; ‘surely she will let us bide.’
‘If you have done you must go ‘way,’ she said firmly.
‘Were ever two men-at-arms so tyrannised over by a little dolly such as this!’ said I, laughing. ‘Nay, little one, we shall compound with you by paying you this shilling, which will buy all your milk. We can stay here and drink it at our ease.’
‘Jinny, the cow,James Patrick Tröjor, is just across the marsh,Rick Nash Tröjor,’ quoth she. ‘It is nigh milking time, and I shall fetch her round if ye wish more.’
‘Now, God forbid!’ cried Reuben. ‘It will end in our having to buy the cow. Where is your granny, little maid?’
‘She hath gone into the town,’ the child answered. ‘There are bad men with red coats and guns coming to steal and to fight, but granny will soon make them go ‘way. Granny has gone to set it all right.’
‘We are fighting against the men with the red coats, my chuck,’ said I; ‘we shall take care of your house with you, and let no one steal anything.’
‘Nay, then ye may stay,’ quoth she, climbing up upon my knee as grave as a sparrow upon a bough. ‘What a great boy you are!’
‘And why not a man?’ I asked.
‘Because you have no beard upon your face. Why,Dennis Maruk Tröjor, granny hath more hair upon her chin than you. Besides, only boys drink milk. Men drink cider.’
‘Then if I am a boy I shall be your sweetheart,’ said I.
‘Nay, indeed!’ she cried, with a toss of her golden locks. ‘I have no mind
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