that where murders and burglaries and divorces are the great subject of talk?"
"Aye—in the world where something is doing, where there is life, not in the world of mangold-wurzel."
"I do not know, Tamsin," said the lad dispiritedly. "I hope not."
"Why not? I am not happy here. I want to be where something is stirring. "Why," said Thomasine with a flash of anger in her cheek and eye and the tone of her voice—"Why am I to be a poor farm girl, and Miss Arminell Inglett to have all she wishes? She to be wealthy, and I to have nothing? She to be happy, and I wretched? I suppose I am good-looking, eh, Arkie?"
"Of course you are," said he; "but, Tamsin, I cannot talk to you as you are behind me."
"I do not care to see your face," said the girl, "the back of your collar and coat are enough for me. Is that your Sunday wide-awake?"
"Yes—what have you against it?"
"Only that there is a hole in it, there"—she thrust her finger through the gap in the crown, and touched his scalp.
"I know there is, Tamsin; a coal bounced on to it from the fire."
"Without bringing light to your brain."
"I shall change my place," said Archelaus; he stood up, stepped past the girl, and seated himself above her.
"Now," said he, "I can look down on, and seek for blemishes in your head."
"You will find none there—eh! Arkie? Shall I make my fortune with my hair? Coin it into gold and wear purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day? That is what I want and will have, and I don't care how I get it; so long as I get it. My head and hair are not for you."
