"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. "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."