"There is a word," says she, her voice fallen low and very sweet, soft
as the evening light about us, "that a lad might speak."
"And what's that, Judith?"
"'Tis a riddle," she answered; "and I fear, poor child!" says she,
compassionately, "that you'll find it hard to rede."
'Twas unkind, I thought, to play with me.
"Ah, Dannie, child!" she sighed, a bit wounded and rebuffed, it seems
to me now, for she smiled in a way more sad and tenderly reproachful
than anything, as she looked away, in a muse, to the fading colors in
the west. "Ah, Dannie," she repeated, her face grown grave and
wistful, "you've come back the same as you went away. Ye've come
back," says she, with a brief little chuckle of gratification, "jus'
the same!"