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“What troubles thee? Tell Keren, honey. So so! What troubles thee? Tell Keren.”

And from beneath her kirtle th’ poor jade sobs out, “He’s gone! he’s gone! he’s gone! They’ve taken him to work on th’ big seas–and our child not yet born–and me so ailing; and, oh! I want to die! I want to die!”

Then saith that lass o’ mine, saith she, “Father, do thou fetch some o’ th’ birch wine out o’ th’ cupboard and bring it to me in a cup;” and to the girl she saith, “Come, then; come, then,” like as though she had been coaxing some little spring lambkin to follow her unto its dam; and she half pulls and half carries th’ wench into th’ house, and seats her on a low stool i’ th’ chimney-corner, and kneels down aside of her. And when I be come with th’ drink, she takes the cup out o’ my hand, and makes th’ wench drink ‘t, holding it to her lips with one hand, while with the other she cossets her hair and cheek. And, by-and-by, seeing myself forgotten, I do withdraw into the room beyond, and wait till I be called, that th’ lasses may have ‘t out together.

Now, Ruth’s folks were aye so poor that scarce could they keep clothes on their backs and food i’ their bellies; and it hath some time occurred to me how that the Lord might ‘a’ given such as could not provide for themselves a coat o’ wool or o’ hair that would ‘a’ covered their bodies, after the manner of a sheep or goat–the righteous being clad i’ th’ first fashion, and the wicked after th’ last.

Well, well, I must on. I see thou art waxing restless, comrade. Not so? Well, drink, drink, then, that I may feel thou art well occupied while that my old tongue wags.

So poor, then, were Ruth’s folks that I said to myself, said I, “What i’ th’ name o’ pity,” so saith I–“what i’ th’ name o’ pity is to become o’ the poor lass?” But I had scarce asked myself th’ question when my lass answers it for me.

“Father,” saith she, a-coming and standing afore me, with the empty cup turning on her long fingers–“father,” saith she, keeping those gold-colored eyes o’ hers on mine (methinks they were coined o’ th’ same wedge as her heart o’ gold)–“father,” saith she, just so, “considering all things,” saith she, “I’m going to keep th’ lass in my room till her child be born,” so saith she.

Then saith I, pulling her down into my arms, “Lass,” saith I, “verily do I believe that not only is every hair o’ thy sweet head numbered, but that each one is blessed with a separate blessing!” And what with my love for her, and my admiring of her goodness, and my pride in her, and what with her pity for the poor girl in th’ other room, we did shed enough tears between us to ha’ o’erflowed th’ empty cup in her hands.

So she held me about th’ neck with both arms, and like to ha’ run me mad with kissing th’ back o’ my neck (for I was e’er one o’ your ticklish sort). I stood it bravely, however, seeing how she loved me, and kissed her too whensoever I could get a chance for th’ tightness o’ her hugging. And so we settled it. But Mistress Lemon was yet to be consulted.

Ready enough was I to shift that job on my lass’s broad shoulders (seeing as how a reputation for courage with his wife is ne’er believed o’ a man, at any rate, and as how th’ wench had a way o’ managing her mother which sure none could ‘a’ had that were not of her own flesh). And that night, when her mother was returned from a round o’ gossiping, th’ lass tells her all (having i’ th’ mean time put Ruth to bed atween her own sheets). Well, ne’er saw I my wife in such a rage.