CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LOVER.
Spring came round again, and Owen and Gladys were still at the farm.

The following conversation will show how they went on together.
'Let me carry that bucket for you, Gladys,' said Owen, one evening when she was proceeding across the farm-yard, to carry a warm mesh to a sick cow.
'It is not heavy, sir,' said Gladys, gently.
'It is too heavy for you, _ma'am_, said Owen, emphasising the 'ma'am.' He took the bucket from her, and carried it to the shed, where Gladys dosed and fed her sick cow so very tenderly, that Owen was impelled to say,-- 'I wish I were that cow.' 'Oh, sir! she is but a poor, sick, witless animal.' 'But she has you to nurse and be kind to her; so I wish I were that cow.' 'Sure, sir, I would be glad to nurse you if you were sick,' 'Would you, Gladys?
Then I will be sick to-morrow.' 'I hope not, Mr Owen.

Come, poor Mally.

Drink it up.' 'Never mind, Mally, but attend to me.

Will you not be so cold and stiff, and respectful to me?
I hate a girl who "sir's" me as if I were a lord, and makes me curtseys, and never looks at me, and seems as if she hated me--' 'Oh, no, indeed no, sir--' 'And lives all day long in the same house, and scarcely speaks to me.
You will drive me off to sea again, _ma'am_, if you don't take care.
Look into my face, and say why you hate me so!' 'I hate no one in the world, sir; much less any one of your name.' Here the girl looked up from the poor cow who was licking her hand, and round whose neck her arm was flung, into the face of the young man.