“Is the door of the pig-sty open again?” said Pete. Kate drew a breath of relief. “It's only somebody snoring,” she said. “The ould man,” said Pete. “That's all serene! A good ould sheepdog, that snaps more than, he bites, but he's best when he's sleeping--more safer, anyway.” “What's the good of going away, Pete?” said Kate. “You'd have to make a fortune to satisfy father.” “Others have done it, Kitty--why shouldn't I? Manx ones too--silver kings and diamond kings, and the Lord knows what. No fear of me! When I come back it's a queen you'll be, woman--my queen, anyway, with pigs and cattle and a girl to wash and do for you.” “So that's how you'd bribe a poor girl is it? But you'd have to turn religious, or father would never consent.” “When I come home again, Kitty, I'll be that religious you never seen. I'll be just rolling in it. You'll hear me spaking like the Book of Genesis and Abraham, and his sons, and his cousins; I'll be coming up at night making love to you at the cowhouse door like the Acts of the Apostles.” “Well, that will be some sort of courting, anyway. But who says I'll be wanting it? Who says I'm willing for you to go away at all with the notion that I must be bound to marry you when you come back?” “I do,” said Pete stoutly. “Oh, indeed, sir.” “Listen. I'll be working like a nigger out yonder, and making my pile, and banking it up, and never seeing nothing but the goold and the girls----” “My goodness! What do you say?” “Aw, never fear! I'm a one-woman man, Kate; but loving one is giving me eyes for all. And you'll be waiting for me constant, and never giving a skute of your little eye to them drapers and druggists from Ramsey----” “Not one of them? Not Jamesie Corrin, even--he's a nice boy, is Jamesie.” “That dandy-divil with the collar? Hould your capers, woman!” “Nor young Ballawhaine--Ross Christian, you know?” “Ross Christian be--well, no; but, honour bright, you'll be saying, 'Peter's coming; I must be thrue!'” “So I've got my orders, sir, eh? It's all settled then, is it? Hadn't you better fix the wedding-day and take out the banns, now that your hand is in? I have got nothing to do with it, seemingly. Nobody asks me.” “Whist, woman!” cried Pete. “Don't you hear it?” A cuckoo was passing over the house and calling. “It's over the thatch, Kate. 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' Three times! Bravo! Three times is a good Amen. Omen is it? Have it as you like, love.” The stars had paled out by this time, and the dawn was coming up like a grey vapour from the sea. “Ugh! the air feels late; I must be going in,” said Kate. “Only a bit of a draught from the mountains--it's not morning yet,” said Pete. A bird called from out of the mist somewhat far away. “It is, though. That's the throstle up the glen,” said Kate. Another bird answered from the eaves of the house. “And what's that?” said Pete. “Was it yourself, Kitty? How straight your voice is like the throstle's!”