Margaret Maliphant

								

have all the patience she need have to put up with a man's tempers."
He sighed, and the tears rose to my eyes. A word of disapproval from
my father always hurt me to the quick, and I felt that in this case it
was not wholly deserved, as, however mistaken I might have been, I had
certainly not been self-seeking or eager for homage.
"I'm very sorry," said I, but I am afraid not at all humbly; "I didn't
know I was doing anything so very dreadful. Anyhow, it wasn't I who was
afraid of the horse, and it wasn't for me that Captain Forrester took
the reins."
This was quite true, but I had no business to have said it. I wished
the words back as soon as they were spoken. Joyce blushed scarlet
again, and mother looked at me for the first time. I felt that she was
going to ask what I meant, but father interrupted her.
"There, there," said he, not testily, but as though to put an end to
the discussion. "You should not have done it, because mother says so,
and mother always knows best, but I dare say there's little harm done.
A civil word hurts nobody; and as for the mare, you needn't drive her
again."
So that was all that I had got for my pains. I opened my mouth to
explain and to remonstrate, but father rose from the table and said
grace, and I dared not pursue the subject further. For the matter of
that, the look of pain in his face, as he moved across the room and sat
down heavily in the chair, was quite enough to chase away my vexation
against him. "Meg, just take these heavy things off for me, I'm weary,"
said he. I knelt down and unfastened the gaiters, and unlaced the heavy
boots, and brought him his slippers. He lay back with a sigh of relief.
"The walk round the farm has been too much for you, Laban," said
mother, sitting down in the other high-backed chair near him.
"Let be, let be," muttered he.
"Nay, I can't let be, Laban," insisted mother. "I must look after your
health, you know. I can see very well that it is too much for you
seeing after the farm as it should be seen after. And that's why I
don't think the squire's notion is half a bad one."
I stopped with the spoons and forks in my hand that I was taking off
the table. Father made that noise between his teeth again. I always
knew it meant a storm brewing.
"Anyhow, I hope you won't bear him a grudge for what he thought fit to
advise," mother went on. "He did it out of friendship, I'm sure. And
the squire's a wise man."
Father did not answer at first. He had risen and stood with his back to
the fire. His jaw was set, his eyes looked like black beads under the
overhanging brows.
"Of course I know you'll say he just wants to get a job for his
friend's son," continued mother. "And no doubt he mightn't have thought
of it but for this turning up. But he wouldn't advise it if he didn't
think it was for our good. The squire has our interests at heart, I'm
sure."
"D--n the squire," said father at last, slowly and below his breath.