"Methinks, dad," said Primrose seriously one day when he had been thus discoursing for some length of time; "methinks you have been much in the company of Master Jones of late, and have had some secret thoughts of turning Puritan like him, for your talk has grown sad and solemn, and you seem to fear that because these golden locks, which you say are so beautiful, have been bestowed upon your Primrose, she must needs be in fear of turning into a yellow butterfly. Think you then that I am indeed so vain and frivolous, and so much in danger of singeing my wings?" "Nay," said Jack fondly; "I know thou art as good as thou art beautiful, sweetheart, and I will not thou shouldst liken me to Master Jones whatever. But I would have you beware of the rude youths of the country-side, three of whom have had the presumption within this last week to ask my permission to sue for your hand." "Is it so?" said Primrose wonderingly. "Poor youths; are there not maidens enough beyond the river to please them? Bid them not pay toll for so vain an object, dear dad, and tell them this hand would fain be free for many a year to come. Why, I am but sixteen years old, and scarce account myself yet to be grown-up, much less fit to be sought in marriage. I fear me, dad, likewise, that it might not be my mother's wish to see me a miller's wife, riding to market on a Saturday morn upon my sacks of flour, nor yet behind some stalwart farmer upon a stout grey nag, to sell my wares in tall hat and white apron in the open street! Tell the youths I thank them for their courtesy, but do not think of marrying yet awhile; and when I do----"