The ripple now broke into a wave of joyous merriment.
"Gilly, did you ever know a man or woman that died for love?"
"I can't exactly say that I have. I have heard of such unfortunates--have seen chaps very miserable about their sweethearts, when they were contrary, or were fond of some one else--and have read about it in books."
"Do you believe everything you read in books, Gilbert?"
"To be sure I do--what were they written for else? Do you think that a sensible man would waste paper and ink, and his precious time in printing off lies?"
"I am certain, Gilly, that some books are only written to make people laugh. I am no scholar, and can't read half as well as you, yet I know that much. Do you think the book you were reading out to father the other night--the one you know that you bought of the pedlar--all about the little men and women with the hard names--was a real history?"
Dorothy clapped her hands and laughed heartily.
"You ought to be a good Christian, Gilbert."
"For great is your faith. But--hark!--is not that the old clock in the kitchen clapping seven? We must not stand here gossipping any longer, or father will be after us to hurry our motions. Mother has the supper ready by this time. If you are not hungry, I am. I have not yet found out the way to live upon love."
Dorothy, already out of hearing, had vanished into the old-fashioned house at the bottom of the hill.
The farm-house was one of those quaint, picturesque old buildings, which have long ago vanished from our public thoroughfares, and is only to be found in remote rural districts, approached by narrow cross-roads. Its high gables and chimneys, its bay windows, projecting several feet beyond the wall, and filled with diamonded panes of glass set in lead, and guarded by heavy iron stanchions, told a tale of past centuries, and carried you back to the feudal times, when every man's house was literally his castle, and presented a hostile front to the traveller.
A pointed porch, composed of very small dark red bricks, grey and rusty looking from the lichens which encrusted them, sheltered the front entrance from the bleak easterly winds, which swept over a long range of salt marshes, from the sea. A massy oak door opened from the porch, into a long square hall, paved with broad flag stones, in which the family generally assembled to take their meals.