Margaret Maliphant

								

Mother laid her hand on his arm.
"Hush, Laban, hush; not before the girls," said she, in her gentle
tones.
"Well, well, there," said he, "the squire's a good man and an honest
man, but I say neither he nor any one else has a right to come and
teach a man what to do with his own."
"He doesn't do it because of any right," persisted mother. "He does it
because he's afraid things don't work as well as they used to do, and
because he's your friend."
"And what business has he to be afraid?" retorted father. "I say the
land's my own, though I do pay him rent for it, and it's my business
to be afraid. Does he think I shall be behind-hand with the rent? I've
been punctual to a day these last twenty years. What more does he want,
I should like to know?"
"Now, Laban, you know that isn't it," expostulated mother. "He knows he
is safe enough for the rent, but he's afraid you ain't making money so
fast as you might. And of course if you aren't, it's clear it's because
you're not so strong to work as you were, and you haven't got a son of
your own to look after things for you."
Mother sighed as she said this, but I am afraid I looked at her with
angry not sympathetic eyes.
"The squire takes a true interest in us all," repeated she for the
third time, her voice trembling a little.
"Well, then, let him take his interest elsewhere this time, ma'am,
that's all I've got to say," retorted father, in no way appeased. "If
things were as they should be, there'd be no paying of rent to eat up
a man's profits on the land, but what he made by the sweat of his brow
would be his own for his old age, and for his children after him. And
if we can only get what ought to belong to the nation by paying for it,
then all I bargain for is--let those who get the money from me leave
alone prying into how I get it together."
I had stood perfectly still all this time, with the spoons and forks in
my hand, listening and wondering. Father's last speech I had scarcely
given heed to. I had heard those opinions before, and they had become
mere words in my ears. I was entirely engrossed with wondering what was
the exact nature of the squire's suggestion, and with horror at what I
feared. I was not long left in doubt.
"Well, you make a great mistake in being angry with Squire Broderick,
Laban, indeed you do," reiterated mother, shaking her head, and
without paying any attention to his fiery speech. She never did pay
any attention to such speeches. She always frankly said that she did
not understand them. "If the squire recommends this young Mr. Trayton
Harrod to you, it is because he knows him and thinks he would work with
you, and not be at all like any common paid bailiff, I'm sure of that."
"Well, then, mother, all I can say is--it's nonsense--that is what it
is. It is nonsense. If a man is a paid bailiff, the more like one he is
the better. And I don't think it is at all likely I shall ever take a
paid bailiff to help me to manage Knellestone."