As for myself, I have frequently eaten of it, though never, I fear,
with either that awe or appetite which such noble fare justly demands.
But to-day within this green bower, blessed by a gentle wind that
rustled the leaves about me and stirred Diana's glossy tresses where
she sat beside me, I ate of beef, cold, and set between slices of new
bread,--ate with a reverent joy as any healthy young Briton should.
And presently, meeting the bright glance of my companion, I sighed.
"Diana," said I, "heaven sends dew for the flower, honey for the bee
and butterfly, the worm for the bird, and beef for the Briton. Let us
then be duly thankful that we are neither flower, butterfly nor bird."
"It would be worse to be the worm, I think," she answered.
Alas! It seemed we were not to be long unmolested for, roused by a
shuffling step, I glanced hastily up and beheld an old woman hobbling
towards us bent upon a stick, a miserably ragged, furtive, hag-like
creature who nodded and leered upon us as she came.
"Lor', Ann!" she cried in queer, piping tones. "Lorramity, Ann--so
you've fell in love at last, 'ave ye, dearie? And why not, my pretty,
why not? There's nowt like a bit o' love--'cept it be a bit o' beef! O
Ann, gi'es a bite o' the good meat--a mouthful for poor old Moll, do
'ee now--do!"
"Why, for sure!" answered Diana. "You can eat and welcome, Moll; sit
ye down here by me and rest your old bones. And I ain't fallen in love
wi' no one, Moll.
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