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"There
is naught of harm that would touch thee either on earth or in
heaven,--and a foul-mouthed curse must roll off thy soul like water from
a dove's wing! Cheer thee, my darling--cheer thee! What! Thine own creed
teaches thee that the gentle Mother of Christ, with her little white
angels round her, watches over all innocent maids,--and thinkest thou
she will let an old woman's malice and envy blight thy young days? No,
no! _Thou_ accursed?" And the _bonde_ laughed loudly to hide the tears
that moistened his keen eyes. "Thou art the sweetest blessing of my
heart, even as thy mother was before thee! Come, come! Raise thy pretty
head--here are these merry lads growing long-faced,--and Britta is
weeping enough salt water to fill a bucket! One of thy smiles will set
us all right again,--ay, there now!"--as she looked up and, meeting
Philip's eloquent eyes, blushed, and withdrew herself gently from her
father's arms,--"Let us finish our supper and think no more of yonder
villainous old hag--she is crazy, I believe, and knows not what she says
half her time.


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