All this occurred on the Kissing Bridge. I made sure as I tied Annetje’s ribbons that she was still chuckling behind her mask, though she spoke like a Puritan. “If you had kissed me I should have told my mistress. No I should not, neither. We never do anything she does not like. Do you know how you touched her heart by crying over that dear little Ruth we all loved so much? There you go again. You must be soft indeed. Mistress was telling me all about it. But here comes Pierre; I knew we should meet him.” Sure enough, my friend Pierre was riding on the road ahead of us, and would meet us in a moment. “I am going to play the mistress,” continued Annetje. “You two must ride behind me just the same.” I did not know what to make of this meeting with Pierre. It was not his custom, as I knew very well, to ride a good horse. He could not be here by appointment or Annetje would not try to fool him as to who she really was. Perhaps he had ridden out in the mere hope of stumbling across me. He was on a horse I had seen in the Marmaduke stables, which fact confirmed me in this opinion. Perhaps he had matters of importance for my ear. “Ha, Pierre,” I heard his sweetheart say in a high unnatural voice as they passed. “You see I ride in disguise now. Will you turn and accompany us? I have a new groom. Monsieur St. Vincent, this is Pierre, the barber.” Pierre looked surprised. Evidently Annetje was not copying with success her gentle mistress’ manner. She seemed to know this fact, for her next words contained a half apology for her behavior. “Don’t look amazed, my little friend. You see I have a disguise to keep up now, and I practice by the way. I should have brought Annetje to accompany me—ah, you wish I had? My father could not spare us both. You waste too much time on the little flirt, Pierre.” “She is severe at times,” he answered mournfully. “I sometimes grow so weary waiting for her to come round.” “Bah! You are a milky lover to say so. I’d wait a life-time if I were you. Alas, all men are alike! She is right when she says that you are a white-livered, chicken-hearted snip of a coward not worth the cheese in a mousetrap. Pooh, you are a fine lover. Good Lord deliver me!” “Oh, Mistress Miriam, does she say all that? If you only knew how I do everything she tells me, and stand on my toes from morning till night when she is around, and I have corns to boot, and fetch her ribbons, and she won’t even cross the Kissing Bridge, where everybody does if they are no nearer than half a mile.” “To the kennels with your love if that is all it’s worth.”