“Well—keep in the rut for a start, please—I don’t want you to fight wi’ Lou no more, Steve.”
Steve rubbed his nose. There was a lump on the side of it yet.
“’Cos it spiles his beauty or mine?” he demanded tartly.
“Because—because it’s immoral.”
Steve bellowed a great laugh from his chest.
“Ye learned that from the Lassies, didn’t yer? Well, my girlie, I kin tell yer as there’s lots o’ words a sight more moral when they’re said on yer fist than on the p’int o’ yer tongue. An’ the or’nary man’d feel pretty sick if yer wouldn’t let him use neither, sometimes.”
“It—it must be wrong to fight, and—not to love everybody,” said Maiden, fumbling round the lesson that the Lassies had taught her.
“I’m content wi’ lovin’ one, anyways,” said Steve, tramping on unabashed. “Hev yer asked Lou ter turn Sunday-school, too?”
“Ye—yes.”
“Good fur you! What did he say?”
Maiden’s forehead burnt. All women and many men knew that a promise must be bought from Lou.
Steve grunted, and his great fist shut in his pocket.
“Jes’ come here a minute. Maiden, will yer?” he said, and took three steps to the side of the permanent way.
