_Mait_. What are you talking of, Andre? Fairies and goddesses!--What next?
_Andre_. I am glad you grow a little curious at last. Why I say, and
your own eyes may make it good if you will, that just down in this glen
below here, not a hundred rods hence, there sits, or stands, or did some
fifteen minutes since, some creature of these woods, I suppose it is;
what else could it be? Well, well, I'll call no names, since they offend
you, Sir; but this I'll say, a young cheek and smiling lip it had,
whate'er it was, and round and snowy arm, and dimpled hand, that lay
ungloved on her sylvan robe, and eyes--I tell you plainly, they lighted
all the glen.
_Mait_. Ha? A lady?--there? Are you in earnest?
_Andre_. A lady, well you would call her so perchance. Such ladies used
to spring from the fairy nut-shells, in the old time, when the kings'
son lacked a bride; and if this were Windsor forest that stretches about
us here, I might fancy, perchance, some royal one had wandered out, to
cool the day's glow in her cheek, and nurse her love-dream; but here, in
this untrodden wilderness, unless your ladies here spring up like
flowers, or drop down on invisible pinions from above, how, in the name
of reason, came she here?
_Mait_.
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