an' I've cried of a night 'cause I thot you'd be reckoning I waddun comin'
no more. But 'tweern't my doin' no ways."

"You hadn't forgotten me?"

"Indeed an' I hadn't. An' I'd be sorrerful if I thot you thot so."

She walked to the old position before the gorse and fell naturally into it,
speaking the while.

"Tis this way: mother's been bad wi' faace ache arter my brother Tom went
to sea wi' faither. An' mother grizzled an' worrited herself reg'lar ill
an' stopped in bed two days an' kep on whinin' 'bout what I was to do if
she died; cause she s'posed she was gwained to. But so soon as Tom comed
off his first trip, mother cheered wonnerful, an' riz up to see to en, an'
hear tell 'bout how he fared on the water."

"Your head a wee bit higher, Joan. Well, I'm thankful to see you again. I
was getting very, very lonely, I promise you. And the more I thought about
the picture the more unhappy I became. There's such a lot to do and only
such a clumsy hand to do it. The better I know you, Joan, the harder become
the problems you set me. How am I going to get your soul looking out of
your eyes, d'you think? How am I to make those who may see my picture some
day--years after you and I are both dead and gone, Joan--fall in love with
you?"

"La! I dunnaw, Mister Jan."

"Nor do I. How shall I make the picture so true that generations unborn
will delight in the portrait and deem it great and fine?"