‘Ye desolate whirlwinds that rave, I charge you be good to my dear! She is all--she is all that I have, And the time of our parting is near!’ ‘Beautiful!’ said Una. ‘And did they like it?’ ‘Like it? They were overwhelmed--accables, as Rene says. My dear, if I hadn’t seen it, I shouldn’t have believed that I could have drawn tears, genuine tears, to the eyes of four grown men. But I did! Rene simply couldn’t endure it! He’s all French sensibility. He hid his face and said, “Assez, Mademoiselle! C’est plus fort que moi! Assez!” And Sir Arthur blew his nose and said, “Good Ged! This is worse than Assaye!” While Dad sat with the tears simply running down his cheeks.’ ‘And what did Doctor Break do?’ ‘He got up and pretended to look out of the window, but I saw his little fat shoulders jerk as if he had the hiccoughs. That was a triumph. I never suspected him of sensibility.’ ‘Oh, I wish I’d seen! I wish I’d been you,’ said Una, clasping her hands. Puck rustled and rose from the fern, just as a big blundering cock-chafer flew smack against Una’s cheek. When she had finished rubbing the place, Mrs Vincey called to her that Pansy had been fractious, or she would have come long before to help her strain and pour off. ‘It didn’t matter,’ said Una; ‘I just waited. Is that old Pansy barging about the lower pasture now?’ ‘No,’ said Mrs Vincey, listening. ‘It sounds more like a horse being galloped middlin’ quick through the woods; but there’s no road there. I reckon it’s one of Gleason’s colts loose. Shall I see you up to the house, Miss Una?’ ‘Gracious, no! thank you. What’s going to hurt me?’ said Una, and she put her stool away behind the oak, and strolled home through the gaps that old Hobden kept open for her. Brookland Road I was very well pleased with what I knowed, I reckoned myself no fool-- Till I met with a maid on the Brookland Road That turned me back to school. Low down--low down! Where the liddle green lanterns shine-- Oh! maids, I’ve done with ‘ee all but one, And she can never be mine! ‘Twas right in the middest of a hot June night, With thunder duntin’ round, And I seed her face by the fairy light That beats from off the ground. She only smiled and she never spoke, She smiled and went away; But when she’d gone my heart was broke, And my wits was clean astray. Oh! Stop your ringing and let me be-- Let be, O Brookland bells! You’ll ring Old Goodman * out of the sea, Before I wed one else! Old Goodman’s farm is rank sea sand, And was this thousand year; But it shall turn to rich plough land Before I change my dear! Oh! Fairfield Church is water-bound From Autumn to the Spring; But it shall turn to high hill ground Before my bells do ring!