While she spoke the girl conveyed the impression of making another general curtsey to the company, though she had merely glanced around at them with an inclusive smile. She made a pretty pretence of drawing her cloak around her--she had thrown back the hood immediately after entering the room--and made a movement towards the door. “Don't you dare to think of fleeing, hussy,” said the miller. “If you was to flee just now, there's not one of us here that wouldn't hale thee back by the hair o' the head--and a nobler tow line couldn't be found.” He had put his arms about her and patted her hair, which was the lightest chestnut in colour, and shining like very fine unspun silk. “Hey, Nelly, where did ye pick up that head of hair, anyway? All your household be black as night,” he continued. “Where's the puzzle, sir?” said she, without a suggestion of sauciness. “I favour the night, too, only a moonlight night. My hair is the flash o' moonlight.” “The lass never was slack in speaking up for herself,” said the blacksmith. “True, friend Hal; but haven't I ever been moderate? Have I ever gone even half-way to describe my own charms?” said the girl with a mock seriousness that set everyone laughing--they roared when she looked at them more seriously still, as if reproving their levity. “I'll not stay here to be flouted,” she cried with a pout, giving the miller a pat on the cheek. “Ah, here comes Sue to protect me. Dear Sue, you come in good time. Tell these gentlemen that I haven't a red hair in my head, and as for its being good only to make towing lines of----” Here she broke down and fell sobbing into the arms of Susan Pendelly, a girl of about her own age, who had entered the room by the door that led to the parlour. For a few moments Susan was puzzled, for Nelly went through her piece of acting extremely well, but the laughter of the miller and the smith--the farmer and the water-finder were not quite sure, so they remained solemn--quickly let her know that Nelly was up to a prank, so she put her arms about her and pretended to soothe her, calling the men ill-mannered wretches, and shaking her fist at them. Susan was a little heavy and homely in her comedy. “Towing line indeed!” she said, looking indignantly over Nelly's bowed head at the men. “Towing line indeed! Why 'tis the loveliest hair in Cornwall.” “A towing line,” said her father, laughing. “A towing line that has drawn more craft in its wake than any twenty-oared galley of a man-o'-war. Oh, the poor fools that try to get a grip o' that towing line! Let me count them. First there was Spanish Roderick----” The girl lifted up her head from her friend's shoulder. “Spanish Roderigo the first!” she cried. “Oh, miller, I did think that my reputation was safe in your keeping! Why, sir, there were three after me long before Roderigo showed his face at the Cove.” “I ask your pardon, madam; I did you an injustice; you began the towing business when you were twelve----”