"I've got something to tell you, my dear," said Caleb in his hesitating way. "No very good news; but then it might be worse.""About money, father? I think I know what it is.""Ay? how can that be? You see, I've been a bit of a fool again, and put my name to a bill, and now it comes to paying; and your mother has got to part with her savings, that's the worst of it, and even they won't quite make things even. We wanted a hundred and ten pounds:
your mother has ninety-two, and I have none to spare in the bank;and she thinks that you have some savings.""Oh yes; I have more than four-and-twenty pounds. I thought you would come, father, so I put it in my bag. See! beautiful white notes and gold."Mary took out the folded money from her reticule and put it into her father's hand.
"Well, but how--we only want eighteen--here, put the rest back, child,--but how did you know about it?" said Caleb, who, in his unconquerable indifference to money, was beginning to be chiefly concerned about the relation the affair might have to Mary's affections.
"Fred told me this morning."
"Ah! Did he come on purpose?"
"Yes, I think so. He was a good deal distressed.""I'm afraid Fred is not to be trusted, Mary," said the father, with hesitating tenderness. "He means better than he acts, perhaps.
But I should think it a pity for any body's happiness to be wrapped up in him, and so would your mother.""And so should I, father," said Mary, not looking up, but putting the back of her father's hand against her cheek.
"I don't want to pry, my dear. But I was afraid there might be something between you and Fred, and I wanted to caution you.
You see, Mary"--here Caleb's voice became more tender; he had been pushing his hat about on the table and looking at it, but finally he turned his eyes on his daughter--"a woman, let her be as good as she may, has got to put up with the life her husband makes for her.
Your mother has had to put up with a good deal because of me."Mary turned the back of her father's hand to her lips and smiled at him.
"Well, well, nobody's perfect, but"--here Mr. Garth shook his head to help out the inadequacy of words--"what I am thinking of is--what it must be for a wife when she's never sure of her husband, when he hasn't got a principle in him to make him more afraid of doing the wrong thing by others than of getting his own toes pinched.
That's the long and the short of it, Mary. Young folks may get fond of each other before they know what life is, and they may think it all holiday if they can only get together; but it soon turns into working day, my dear. However, you have more sense than most, and you haven't been kept in cotton-wool: there may be no occasion for me to say this, but a father trembles for his daughter, and you are all by yourself here.""Don't fear for me, father," said Mary, gravely meeting her father's eyes; "Fred has always been very good to me;he is kind-hearted and affectionate, and not false, I think, with all his self-indulgence. But I will never engage myself to one who has no manly independence, and who goes on loitering away his time on the chance that others will provide for him.
You and my mother have taught me too much pride for that.""That's right--that's right. Then I am easy," said Mr. Garth, taking up his {hat or bet. ????} But it's hard to run away with your earnings, eh child.""Father!" said Mary, in her deepest tone of remonstrance.
"Take pocketfuls of love besides to them all at home," was her last word before he closed the outer door on himself.
"I suppose your father wanted your earnings," said old Mr. Featherstone, with his usual power of unpleasant surmise, when Mary returned to him. "He makes but a tight fit, I reckon. You're of age now;you ought to be saving for yourself."
"I consider my father and mother the best part of myself, sir,"said Mary, coldly.
Mr. Featherstone grunted: he could not deny that an ordinary sort of girl like her might be expected to be useful, so he thought of another rejoinder, disagreeable enough to be always apropos.
"If Fred Vincy comes to-morrow, now, don't you keep him chattering:
let him come up to me."