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. As far as he was
concerned, no matter how old she got, Petal would always
be that little girl who laughed and squealed when he
bounced her lightly on his knee.
So he said, "Dash it all, I don't care what anyone thinks!
I don't like what's happening!" And he took to chasing off
the young men with a knobby walking stick he kept handy
near his loom. "Stay away!" he would cry as he came
running out of his cottage toward the fence. The young man
of the moment, startled by the attack, would leave Petal
standing by the gate and flee. "And tell your boorish friends
to stay clear, too!"
Petal was always very embarrassed by this display.
"Daddy, why can't they visit me?" she'd ask, near tears. "I'm
old enough!"
"Because!" answered Aron, his face red, his knuckles
white as he clenched his walking stick. "Just - just
because!" And then he'd storm back into the cottage.
Well, "because" wasn't good enough for Petal, and she
continued to encourage her suitors. A wink from her was
enough to draw them back like bees to a bright, fragrant
flower - though none of them dared actually enter the gate.
From his loom - which, incidentally, was a clever, if
noisy, contraption operated by various levers and pedals -
the stern weaver could look out his window and see the way
his daughter was behaving
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