"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."




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