“But how--no one can question that this is right. I am sure he won’t object.”
“Stop, Ethel, don’t you see, it can’t be done for nothing? If we undertake it, we must go on with it, and when I am away it will fall on you and Flora. Well, then, it ought to be considered whether you are old enough and steady enough; and if it can be managed for you to go continually all this way, in this wild place. There will be expense too.”
Ethel looked wild with impatience, but could not gainsay these scruples, otherwise than by declaring they ought not to weigh against the good of Cocksmoor.
“It will worry him to have to consider all this,” said Richard, “and it must not be pressed upon him.”
“No,” said Ethel sorrowfully; “but you don’t mean to give it up.”
“You are always in extremes, Ethel. All I want is to find a good time for proposing it.”
“Mind,” said Richard, stopping short, “I’ll have nothing to do with it except on condition you are patient, and hold your tongue about it.”
“I think I can, if I may talk to Margaret.”
“Oh yes, to Margaret of course. We could not settle anything without her help.”
“And I know what she will say,” said Ethel. “Oh, I am so glad,” and she jumped over three puddles in succession.
“And, Ethel, you must learn to keep your frock out of the dirt.”
“I’ll do anything, if you’ll help me at Cocksmoor.”
For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays, Are the blocks which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these, Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.--LONGFELLOW.
When Ethel came home, burning with the tidings of the newly-excited hopes for Cocksmoor, they were at once stopped by Margaret eagerly saying, “Is Richard come in? pray call him;” then on his entrance, “Oh, Richard, would you be so kind as to take this to the bank. I don’t like to send it by any one else--it is so much;” and she took from under her pillows a velvet bag, so heavy, that it weighed down her slender white hand.
“What, he has given you the care of his money?” said Ethel.
“Yes; I saw him turning something out of his waistcoat-pocket into the drawer of the looking-glass, and sighing in that very sad way. He said his fees had come to such an accumulation that he must see about sending them to the bank; and then he told me of the delight of throwing his first fee into dear mamma’s lap, when they were just married, and his old uncle had given up to him, and how he had brought them to her ever since; he said she had spoiled him by taking all trouble off his hands. He looked at it, as if it was so sorrowful to him to have to dispose of it, that I begged him not to plague himself any more, but let me see about it, as dear mamma used to do; so he said I was spoiling him too, but he brought me the drawer, and emptied it out here: when he was gone, I packed it up, and I have been waiting to ask Richard to take it all to the bank, out of his sight.”