"You ed'n strong, sir?"

"Not at all."

She was silent, and a great sympathy rose in her girl's heart, for frail
health always made her sad.

"You don't judge 'tis wrong then for a maiden to be painted in a picksher?"

"Certainly not, Joan. I should never suggest such a thing to you if I
thought it was in the least wrong. I _know_ it isn't wrong."

"I seed you issterday," she said, changing the subject suddenly, "but you
dedn see me, did 'e?"

"Yes, I did, and your father. He is a grand-looking man. By the way, Joan,
I think I never told you my name. I'm called John; that's short and simple,
isn't it?"

"Mister Jan," she said.

"No, not 'mister'--just 'Jan,'" he answered, adopting her pronunciation. "I
don't call you 'Miss' Joan."

She looked at once uncomfortable and pleased.

"We must be friends," the man continued calmly, "now you have promised to
let me put you here among the gorse bushes."