It was Saturday afternoon and a holiday with the schoolboys, of course.
It was a holiday to them all, for Mrs Inglis and Violet were out of
doors too, sitting on the gallery in the sunshine, and Davie was coming
home. He was at the moment crossing the bridge at a great pace, and so
eager to be among them, that instead of going soberly round by the gate,
as he was accustomed to do, he took Jem's fashion and swung himself
first over the side of the bridge, and then over the fence into the
garden. They might well look surprised, and all the more so that it was
high water, and he had to scramble along the unsteady fence and through
the willows before he could get to the grass dry shod.
"Well done, Davie! you are growing young again," said Jem.
David sat down on the steps at his mother's feet laughing and
breathless.
"Is it a half holiday?" asked his mother.
"Yes; Frank came to the bank and begged Mr Caldwell to let me go out in
the boat with him and his brother this afternoon."
"And he was willing to let you go, I suppose?"
"Yes; he was not quite sure about the boat, and he said I must come
first and ask you, mamma."
"A long walk and a short sail. It won't pay, Davie," said Jem. "You
would not have cared, would you, mamma?"
"But I must have come at any rate to change my clothes. We shall very
likely get wet."
"How very prudent!" said Jem.
"Very proper," said his mother.
"Well, be quick, or you'll keep them waiting. It is well to be you,"
said Jem. "I wish the high and mighty Phil Oswald would ask me to sail
with him."
"Perhaps he may; he is bringing the boat here. Mamma, I have some good
news."
The children gathered round to listen.
"That is why you came jumping over the fence, instead of coming round by
the gate," said Ned.
"Violet knows it!" said Jessie; "look at her face."
"No, I don't know it. I might, perhaps, guess it."
It was no very wonderful news. Only that Mr Caldwell had reminded
David that he had that day been a year in the office, and that next year
his salary was to be raised. Not much. It did not seem a great sum
even to Ned and Jessie. But it was worth a great deal more than the
mere money value, because it implied that David was getting to
understand his work, and that his employer knew it, and had confidence
in him. The mother said something like this to him and to them all, and
she was very much pleased.
"Our Davie will be a rich man some day!" said Jem. "I thought I was to
be the rich man of the family, but it don't look like it now."
"It will be a while first," said David.
"You will be a banker," said Ned.
"I am afraid I ought to be gardener this afternoon," said David, looking
round on the garden.
"No use. The water is rising. We shall be flooded yet," said Jem.
"There is no time lost yet," said his mother.
"It is better that we should be a little late, than that the water
should cover the earth after the seeds are sown."
The broad, shallow channel at the end of the garden was full, and the
willows that fringed the bit of green grass were far out into the water.
The water almost touched the bridge across the road, and filled the
hollow along the embankment.
"And, besides, you are going to sail," said Jem.
"I think it would be quite as pleasant to stay here."
They were all sitting on the little gallery before the house. It must
have been a charming place once, when the river could be seen from it,
and the pretty view beyond. At present, nothing could be seen on that
side but the high embankment, and the few rods of garden-ground. On the
other side were the willows, already green and beautiful, and some
early-budding shrubs and the grass. Then there was the water, flowing
down between the two bridges, and, over all, the blue sky and the sweet
spring air. It was a charming place still, or it seemed so to David and
them all.
The garden-beds had already been made, and a great many green things
were springing here and there, and, on a rugged old apple-tree and on
some plum and cherry trees, the buds were beginning to show themselves.
The children were eager to be at work, but, for the present, that was
not to be thought of. However, there was much to be said about the
garden, and about the seeds which were to be sown, and Jessie was eager
about a plan for covering the high embankment with squash-vines and
scarlet-runners. Fred wanted to keep bees, and ducks if they could have
them, but bees certainly; and amid the happy clamour which their voices
made there came a shout, and, from under the railway bridge from the
river, a boat was seen advancing.
"Here we are at last!" called out Frank Oswald; "and it looks very much
as if here we must stay. We cannot get any further, Phil."
The Inglis children were soon as near the boat as the willows and the
water would permit. There seemed to be no way of getting the boat to
the bank, for the willows were far out into the water, and through them
it could not be forced.
"You'll have to land on the other side and go round by the bridge," said
Jem.
They were not using oars. That would have been impossible in a channel
so narrow. They were pushing the boat through the water by means of a
long pole, but it was not very easily managed, because of the
shallowness of the water and the bushes that grew on the margin.
"Jem is right; we must go to the other side," said Frank.
"Not I," said his brother, as he planted his pole firmly on the bank,
measuring the distance with his eye. Then throwing himself forward with
a sudden spring, he was over the willows and over the water beyond,
landing safely on the nicely-prepared onion-bed.
"Well done!" cried Jem.
"Not at all well done," said Frank, who had only saved himself from
being overturned into the water by grasping a branch near him.
Philip only laughed, as he shook hands with Mrs Inglis and Violet.
"Take my place in the boat and have a row on the river," said he, as he
sat down on the steps near them. "I have had enough of it for awhile."
Jem was nothing loth, but he looked at his mother for permission.
"Is it quite safe, do you think?" asked she hesitating.
"Oh! quite safe. Frank understands all about it; and so does Jem, I
dare say."
"Mamma!" entreated Ned.
"And mamma!" entreated Jessie.
On the Gourlay river the boys had paddled about at their own pleasure,
and their mother was not inclined to be unreasonably anxious about them.
She knew it would be a great delight to them all to be permitted to go.
"But there is not room for all; and Mr Oswald will not care to be
troubled with so many children."
"Let them go with the boys--there is no danger, and I will wait here,"
said Philip. "Only you must promise to come back within a reasonable
time, Jem."
"All right!" said Jem. "I promise. Come along Violet. There is room
for you, and Polly too."
But Mr Philip thought there was not room for all, and Mrs Inglis would
not trust little Mary with them, so they went without them.
This was Mr Philip's first visit to the bridge house. Mrs Inglis had
seen him at church, and David had seen him a good many times at the
bank. He had been at home a week or two, and Violet had, of course,
seen him every day. David had acknowledged that he did not like him
very much, and Jem called him "a swell," and spoke contemptuously of his
fine clothes and fine manners. Violet had taken his part, and said he
was just like other people. He was very kind to his little sisters, she
said. There had been a good deal said about him in one way or another,
and Mrs Inglis regarded him with curiosity and interest. He was a
good-looking lad, with a pleasant face and manner. "Just like other
people," did not quite do him justice. Mrs Inglis could not help
thinking Jem's idea of "a swell" did not suit him certainly. He was not
"fine," on the present occasion, either in dress or manners. David had
said very little about about him, but he had not approved of him, and,
seeing the young man now so frank and friendly, she could not but wonder
why.
They did not go into the house, and by and by they all crossed the
garden and went up on the railway track to watch the boat; and, being a
little behind the others, leading little Mary between them, his mother
asked David what was the reason of his dislike.
"Dislike! mamma," said David, in surprise. "I don't dislike him. I
don't know him very well. He has had very little to say to me. Why
should you think that I dislike him?"
"Perhaps dislike is too strong a word. But I fancied that you did not
quite approve of him, David."
"Approve of him! Well--he is not one of us--of our kind of people, I
mean. He does not look at things as we do. I don't dislike him, mamma,
but I don't care about him."
"Which means he doesn't care about you?" said his mother, smiling.
David laughed.
"He certainly does not. He is much too great a man to have anything to
say to me. But I don't think that is the reason that I don't `approve'
of him, as you say. He is not in earnest about anything. He is
extravagant--he spends a great deal of money foolishly. But I ought not
to speak of that. Mr Caldwell told me, and he seemed quite as well
pleased that we should have little to say to one another. He said Frank
was the better companion for Jem and me."
"I dare say that is true," said his mother.
But all this did not prevent the young people from having a very
pleasant afternoon together. The boat came back after "a reasonable
time," and then the others went for a sail, and David acknowledged that
Mr Philip was in earnest about his rowing, at any rate, and permitted
himself to admire his activity and skill. When the boat was brought in
among the willows again, it was almost dark.
"Suppose we leave it here?" said Frank. "It will be quite safe, and we
can send for it on Monday."
"It would not be a bad place to leave it here altogether," said his
brother.
Jem was delighted with the idea, and said so; but David gave his mother
a doubtful look.
"Come in to tea," said she, "and you can decide about it afterwards."
The Oswalds had not dined, but they did not refuse the invitation, as,
for a single minute, Violet hoped they might. The simple arrangements
of her mother's table were not at all like those which Miss Oswald
considered necessary in her father's house, but they were faultless in
their way, and Violet was ashamed of her shame almost as soon as she was
conscious of it.
"Aunt Mary," said Frank, after they were seated at the table, "won't you
ask me to spend the afternoon here to-morrow? I like your Sundays."
Mrs Inglis did not answer for a moment, but Jem answered for her.
"All right, Frank! Come straight from church. Your father will let
you, won't he?"
"If Aunt Mary were to ask me, he would. I am not sure, otherwise," said
Frank. "What do you say, Aunt Mary?"
Philip looked at him in astonishment.
"Never mind, Phil," said Frank. "Aunt Mary and I understand."
"We are old friends," said Mrs Inglis, smiling.
"I think he is very bold," said his brother. "What if I were to insist
on being invited in that persistent way?"
"That would be quite different," said Frank. "You are a stranger. I
was often here last winter. I am one of the children when I am here.
Aunt Mary does not make a stranger of me."
"But, Frank," said Jessie, "David is away now on Sunday afternoon, and
Violet and Jem. And, perhaps, mamma will let us all go, and go herself,
if there are any more children."
"Where?" asked Frank.
"At Sunday-school--down on Muddy Lane. Mr Caldwell's Sunday-school."
"Old Caldwell!" said Frank. "That's the way, is it? How do you like
it, Davie?"
"Sunday-school is not a new thing to us, you know," said David.
"But it is a new thing for you to be a teacher," said Jem. "Oh! he
likes it. Davie's a great man on Sunday, down in Muddy Lane."
"Nonsense, Jem!"
"I went once," said Jessie, "and it is very nice. Letty sings, and the
children sing too. And one of the girls broke Letty's parasol--" And
Mrs Inglis's attention being occupied for the moment, Jessie gave other
particulars of the school, quite unmindful of her sister's attempts to
stop her.
Ned had something to tell, too, and entered into minute particulars
about a wager between two of the boys, as to whether Mr Caldwell wore a
wig or not, and the means they took to ascertain the truth about it.
"They must be rather stupid not to know that," said Frank.
"Do you like it?" asked Philip of Violet.
"Yes, indeed! I like it very much. But I don't like Ned's telling
tales out of school, nor Jessie, either."
"But mine are not bad tales. I like it too," said Jessie.
"But I should think it would be very unpleasant. And what is the good
of it? Muddy Lane of all places!" said Philip, making an astonished
face.
"That shows that you don't know Aunt Mary and her children," said Frank,
laughing. "You would never ask what is the good, if you did."
"I know, of course, there must be good to the children, but I should
think it would be decidedly unpleasant for you. Muddy Lane cannot be a
nice place at any time, and now that the warm weather is coming--"
"You don't suppose Violet is one of the people who is afraid of a little
dust, or bad odours, and all that, do you?" asked Frank.
"She rather likes it--self-denial and all that," said Jem. "And as for
Davie--"
"Nonsense, Jem! Self-denial indeed! There is very little of that,"
said David. "You know better than that, if Frank does not."
"And old Caldwell, of all people in the world," said Philip, laughing;
"I did not suppose he could speak to any one younger than fifty--except
Davie. What can he have to say to children, I wonder?"
"Oh, he has enough to say. You ought to hear him," said Jem.
"Thank you. I'll come and hear him--to-morrow, perhaps."
"Mr Caldwell did not like the new hymn-book at first," said Jessie.
"But the children like them, and Letty teaches them to sing, and it is
very nice. I hope we can go to-morrow."
"I hope so," said Mr Philip.
"But you don't care about such things, do you?" asked Jessie.
"I ought to care, ought I not?"
"Yes; but you ought not just to make believe care."
Mr Philip laughed a little.
"There is no make believe about it. I shall like to go to-morrow very
much."
They were all away from the table by this time, and Frank sat down with
David on the window seat. He put his arm round his shoulder, boyish
fashion, and laid his head down upon it.
"Is it military duty you are doing, Davie, down in Muddy Lane?" said he,
softly.
All the talk that had been going on had put David out a good deal, and
he did not answer for a minute. It seemed to him that a great deal had
been made of a little matter, and he was not well pleased.
"Don't you remember about the `armour,'" said Frank.
"Don't Frank?" said David. It hurt him to think that Frank should make
a jest of that.
"Indeed I am not jesting, Davie. That is one way of fighting the good
fight--is it not? And I want to have a good long talk about it again."
"With mamma, you mean."
"Yes, and with you. Don't you remember Hobab and old Tim?"
David did not answer in words, and both the boys sat silent, while the
others grew eager in discussing quite other things. It was growing
dark, and Philip decided that it would be better to leave the boat and
walk home. Then something was said about future sails, and then Philip
told them of a friend of his who was going to be one of a party who were
to explore the country far west. He was going to try and persuade his
father to let him join it. It was an exploring company, but a good many
were to join it for the sake of the hunting and fishing, and the
adventures that might fall in their way. They were to be away for
months, perhaps for the whole summer, and a great deal of enjoyment was
anticipated. Jem listened intently.
"That would just suit me, mamma," said he, with a sigh.
"I dare say it would be pleasant for a while," said she, smiling.
"It would hardly suit you to lose a summer out of your life, Jem," said
David, sharply.
Jem whistled.
"You are there! are you, David? No, that wouldn't suit me, exactly."
"Lose a year out of his life! What can you mean?" said Mr Philip, in
astonishment.
"What would come out of such a summer, except just the pleasure of it?"
said David.
"Well! there would be a great deal of pleasure. What else would you
have?"
David made no answer.
"Davie means that there is something besides one's pleasure to be
considered in this world," said Frank.
"David means that Jem can find pleasure and profit without going so far
for them," said Mrs Inglis.
"David is a young prig," said Mr Philip to himself, and as they were
going home he said it to his brother in decided terms.
"That's your idea of it, is it?" said Frank. "You know just about as
much of Davie and Aunt Mary, and that sort of people, as I know about
the Emperor of China. I know there _is_ such a person, and that is all
I do know."
Philip laughed.
"It is never too late to learn, and if they have no objection, I mean to
know them better."
"They are not your kind of people," said Frank, decidedly.
"You mean they are very good and religious and all. I am not a heathen
or a Turk, Frank, my boy."
"I could never make you understand the difference," said Frank, gravely.
"Never make you understand!" said Philip, mimicking his voice and
manner. "I think I can understand them pretty well without your help.
Don't trouble yourself. They are just like other people. It is true
that Mrs Inglis looks just as much of a lady in her plain gown and in
that shabby room as she could in any of the fine drawing-rooms, and that
is more than could be said of some of the ladies I know. She is a good
woman, too, I am sure. As for Davie, he is a young prig--though he is
good, too, I dare say. Violet is a little modest flower. They are very
nice, all of them, but they are not beyond my powers of comprehension, I
fancy, Frank, lad."
"All right, if you think so," said Frank.
Philip was amused and a little vexed at his brother's persistency.
"Do you know them, Frank,--`understand' them, as you call it?"
"I know they are very different from us, and from all the people we know
most about, and I think I know what makes the difference, though I don't
quite understand it. You would know what I mean if you had seen Mr
Inglis and knew the kind of life he lived."
"I have seen, and I know what his character was. He was an unworldly
sort of man, I believe."
"He did not live for his own pleasure," said Frank, gravely. "He wasn't
his own. He lived to serve his Master. I can't tell you. You should
speak to Davie or Violet about him, or to Aunt Mary."
"Well, so I will, some day," said Philip.
Frank made no reply.
In the meantime Mr Philip was being just as freely discussed by the
young people they had left. Jem was delighted with their new friend.
He was a fine fellow, not at all "swell," as he had supposed. Jem grew
enthusiastic over his friendliness, his boat, his rowing, and hoped he
might come often. So did the little ones.
"David does not like him," said Violet.
"I liked him this afternoon well enough," said David.
"Yes, he was nice this afternoon; but he is not always nice with his
sisters. He is good to the little ones," said Violet.
"I dare say his sisters are not very good to him. I can easily believe
it," said Jem.
"He is not like the people we have been taught to admire," said David.
"He always thinks of himself first," said Violet. "And he is not really
in earnest about anything."
"Mamma, listen to Davie and Letty speaking evil of their neighbours,"
said Jem.
"Not speaking evil, I hope," said Mrs Inglis, "but still not speaking
with charity, I am afraid."
"I was not speaking evil of him, mamma," said Violet. "I only meant
that he does not care for anything very much, except to amuse himself.
I think he is rather foolish, but I would not speak evil of him."
"See that you don't, then," said Jem.
"He made himself very agreeable this afternoon, that is all we need
say," said Mrs Inglis. "We are not likely to see very much of him in
future."
Nothing more was said at that time. They saw a good deal of both
brothers during the next few weeks. But they saw nothing for a good
while that inclined either Violet or Davie to change their opinion of
the elder one.
The next day Frank came home with them from church. He was the only one
of the family at church that day, for it had rained in the morning, and
they were not very regular churchgoers at the best of times.
"Papa said I might go home with you, if Aunt Mary asked me," said Frank,
as he joined them at the door.
"Come on, then," said Jem. "Mamma doesn't approve of Sunday visiting,
as a general thing, but you are one of ourselves by this time. Mamma,
ask Frank to come."
Mrs Inglis smiled.
"Come and read with the children, Frank," said she.
Frank was only too happy to go. He did not go to the Sunday-school with
the others, but chose to stay at home with Mrs Inglis and little Mary.
But the first person the others saw when they came to Muddy Lane was Mr
Philip, waiting for them at the corner, as though it were the most
natural and proper thing in the world for him to be there.
"I came to hear what your friend Mr Caldwell has to say to-day, Jem,"
said he.
"All right!" said Jem. "He will have something appropriate to say about
Sabbath-breaking, I dare say."
"I am sure I don't know why," said Philip, laughing.
"He'll tell you why," said Jem.
David did not say it was all right, nor think it. Indeed, it proved to
his mind to be all wrong, for Mr Caldwell did not make his appearance
at all.
"To think of his failing to-day, of all days," said David.
They waited for him a long time, till the children became restless and
impatient.
"We ought to begin, Davie," said Violet.
"Yes. I wouldn't mind if we were by ourselves."
"Why should you mind now? Go ahead, Davie. If he laughs, I'll knock
him down," said Jem.
It was very foolish in Violet to laugh, and very wrong, too, she knew;
but she could not help it. Jem's idea of the way to keep order was so
absurd. David did not laugh. He looked anxious, and at a loss, and a
little indignant at his sister's amusement.
"I beg your pardon, Davie. Let us just go on us usual," she entreated.
"Why should you mind?"
And so they did go on. They sung a hymn very well; at least, they sung
with a great deal of spirit. There were some clear, sweet voices among
the children, and they all seemed to enjoy singing so much it could not
be otherwise than agreeable to those who were listening, and Violet did
her best. Then David, very reverently, but not very firmly, took Mr
Caldwell's duty upon himself, and offered a few words of prayer; and
then the children repeated together the Lord's Prayer, and after that
everything went well enough. David and Violet took their usual places,
with their classes round them, and Jem suggested to Mr Philip that he
should take Mr Caldwell's rough-looking boys in hand "and give them a
talk."
"Hear them repeat their verses, and tell them a story. You can do it as
well as Mr C. Shall I tell them that you are the new minister?"
"Thank you. I will introduce myself. I ought to be able to say
something to these young rascals. I hope they won't find me out."
He seemed to get on very well. Jem would have liked to get rid of the
three little fellows for whom he was responsible, so as to hear what he
was saying. The boys liked it, evidently; at least they listened with
great interest; and one would have thought that Mr Philip was quite
accustomed to the work, he did it so easily. The boys laughed more than
once, and grew eager and a little noisy; but their teacher was perfectly
grave and proper, and did not give Jem the shadow of an excuse for
wishing to "knock him down." He congratulated him when it was all over.
"Yes; I flatter myself it was the right man in the right place this
time," said Mr Philip. "You didn't think I could do as well as old
Caldwell, did you."
Jem shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes, you could do it, once in a way, after a fashion, at any rate."
But though Jem spoke so coldly to Philip himself, he was enthusiastic in
his praises of him when they were giving their mother the history of the
afternoon after Frank had gone home.
"He can do anything, I think," said he. "He was not at a loss for a
moment. I believe, if he had been put to it, he could have done the
whole business as well as Davie did, and he did it very well."
David said nothing, but Violet repeated her opinion as to their new
friend's want of earnestness.
"If it had been the most foolish thing in the world, he would have done
it just as well, and just as willingly, if he had thought it was
expected of him to do it."
"Are you not a little severe on him?" said her mother.
"No, mamma; I don't mean to be severe. He would think it a great
compliment paid to him, though you don't think it nice. He does not
look seriously at life. He amuses himself with everything. Just
compare him with our Davie."
David had gone out before she said this.
"Nonsense! Letty. Our Davie is a boy still, and Mr Philip is a man.
He has completed the course at the university, you know quite well."
"Our Davie is far more manly than he, for all that. And so are you,
Jem. Davie is worth two of him."
"A great deal more than two of him to us, Letty," said her mother,
laughing. "Still, I am inclined to think with Jem, that you are a
little hard on him."
"Yes, she does not like him," said Jem. "And it is odd, too, for he
likes her, and you, mamma, and all of us."
"Oh! yes; I dare say he does. We amuse him for the moment. I know him
better than you do, Jem. I have seen him every day for a fortnight, you
know. I like him very well, but I don't think he is reliable. He is
not in earnest," repeated Violet, solemnly. "And Sunday-school teaching
is not a proper thing to amuse one's self with. It would spoil all the
pleasure of it to have him come there always. However, there is no
danger. He will find something else to amuse him."
Violet was right, as far as Philip's coming to Muddy Lane was concerned.
He did not make his appearance there again for a very long time after
that Sunday. But, having nothing better to do, he seemed quite inclined
to cultivate the acquaintance of the young Inglises, and came to the
bridge house a good deal. Once or twice he brought his little sisters
and Violet down in the boat to tea, and several times he came there
after having been down the river fishing. Once or twice David, coming
home earlier than the others, found him sitting quietly with his mother
and little Mary, to all appearance perfectly satisfied with the
entertainment he was receiving; and his entertainers seemed satisfied
too. David began to consider these frequent visits as an infliction to
be borne patiently, and Violet adhered to her first opinion; but, with
Jem and the children, he was a great favourite. Even the mother was
inclined to make excuses for his faults, and was very kind to him when
he came. The mother knew more about him than the rest did, for he told
her a great deal about himself and his past life during the quiet
afternoons he passed with her and little Mary. And having seen more,
and suffered more, she was inclined to have more patience with his
weaknesses than they.
It had been understood all along, that, as soon as Philip's course at
the university was over, he was to take his place in his father's
office, and to give all his time and thoughts to his father's business.
He had never been quite pleased with the idea, and had all along hoped
that something might happen to render unnecessary a step so distasteful
to him. Nothing had happened, and he was inclined to fancy that he was
making a sacrifice to his father's business and his father's desire for
wealth, and to claim sympathy because of this.
"And would you be a great help to your father?" asked Mrs Inglis, one
day, when he had got thus far.
"I don't know. I am sure I don't think so, hating business as I do.
But he must think so, or he would not be so bent on my coming to the
office and tying myself down. It will come to that, I dare say," said
he, with a sigh.
Mrs Inglis smiled.
"Is it not possible that he may wish it for your sake rather than his
own? And how do you know that you hate business? You have never given
it a fair trial, have you?"
"No, I have not tried it steadily," said he, answering her last question
first. "But then one can tell what one does not like without trying it
very long. I dare say my father thinks it would be a good thing for me
to fix myself at the bank. But a man must judge for himself before he
submits to be tied down for life."
"But is it not possible that it is the tying down which is distasteful?
And every man must submit to be tied down to something. What would you
like to do better."
"Oh! almost anything. I should like the profession of the law better."
And then he added, after a little, "I should like it better for one
thing. I need not enter an office till the autumn."
"I am afraid it is the tying down that is the trouble, after all," said
she.
"No, I assure you--not altogether--though, I acknowledge, it would be a
fine thing to let business slide--to have nothing at all to do."
"I do not agree with you. I think it would be the very worst thing that
could happen to you to have nothing to do," said Mrs Inglis, gravely.
"To me, especially, do you mean? Well, I don't quite mean that; but I
think Mr Caldwell was right when he told my father that, if he had
meant me for business, he should have put me to it long ago."
"Do you mean that you regret having been sent to the university?"
"I mean that I should have been fit for my work by this time, and,
probably, content with it. A university is not needed there."
"You must not be angry with me if I say you are talking foolishly," said
Mrs Inglis, "and, indeed, ungratefully, when you say that. Do you mean
that your education will be a disadvantage to you?"
"No; except by making business distasteful to me. I mean, it has given
me other interests and other tastes--something beyond the desire to make
money."
"Doubtless, that was your father's intention--to make you an intelligent
man as well as a banker--not a mere money-maker. And his wish ought to
decide you to give the business of his office a fair trial, since you do
not seem to have a preference for any other."
"I have a very decided preference for a trip across the country. Don't
look grave, Aunt Mary. These are my holidays. By and by will be time
to settle down to work."
"I thought you were no longer a schoolboy?"
"No, I am not; but I should like to go--to the Red River, perhaps. It
would be a fine trip for Davie in his vacation, too, and its cost would
be little--comparatively."
"Davie does not expect a vacation--or only a week or two."
"Davie is quite a steady old gentleman," said Philip.
Mrs Inglis smiled.
"I don't suppose you mean that quite as a compliment to my boy. I am
very glad it is true, nevertheless."
"You don't suppose I would venture to say anything not complimentary to
your boy to you, do you? Or that I would wish to say it to any one?
But he _does_ take life so seriously. He is so dreadfully in earnest.
One would think that Davie was years and years older than I am."
"Yes, in some things."
"But, Aunt Mary, such precocious sobriety and wisdom are unnatural and
unwholesome. Davie is too wise and grave for his years."
"He is not too wise to do very foolish things sometimes; and he is the
merriest among the children at home, though we don't hear his voice
quite so often as Jem's. And you must remember that Davie's experience
has been very different from yours."
"Yes, Aunt Mary, I know. Frank has told me how happy you all were, and
how Davie was always so much with his father. It must have been very
terrible for you all."
"And, Philip, Davie has tried to take his father's place among us.
Davie is our bread-winner, in a measure. We have had many cares and
anxieties together. No wonder that he seems to you to be grave and
older than his years."
"Aunt Mary, what an idle, good-for-nothing fellow you must think me,"
said Philip, putting down little Mary, who had been sitting on his knee,
and standing before his aunt.
"Not good-for-nothing, certainly. Perhaps, a little idle and
thoughtless. There is time for improvement and--room. Let us hope you
will know your own mind soon, which you certainly do not now."
"Let us hope so," said Philip, with a sigh. "Here comes Davie! Now,
observe him! He will not look in the least glad to see me."
"Where are all the rest?" said Davie, coming in.
"Davie, do you know, I have been persuading your mother to let you go
with me to the Red River," said Philip. "Wouldn't you like it?"
"It is very good of you. Yes, I dare say I would like it. What does
mamma say?"
"She thinks you are too useful a man to be spared so long. What would
Mr Caldwell do without you?"
"When are you coming to help him?" said David.
"After I come home in the autumn. I cannot bring myself to Davie's
standard of steadiness all at once, Aunt Mary. I must have a little
time."
"There is none to lose," said Mrs Inglis gravely.