“From Mr. Grant?” said the old lady, “What does he say?”
She saw by her son’s face that there was something more than usual in the wind, but one who had lived her life, from fortune to poverty, through strife and trial, was prepared to take things much more easily than Hugh.
“Is it anything very serious?”
“His daughter’s coming out to live here.”
“What?”
“Yes, here’s the letter. It only came this morning. Patsy was late, the river is up. I’ll read it to you.”
Seating himself at the table, Hugh spread out the letter, and read it:—
Dear Gordon,
The last lot of wethers, though they topped the market, only realised 10/-. I think you would show better judgment in keeping these sheep back a little. Don’t rely upon Satton’s advice. He is generally wrong, and is always most wrong when he is most sure he is right.
My daughter has arrived from England, and will at once go up to the station. I have written to your mother on the subject. My daughter will represent me in everything, so I wish her to learn a little about stations. Send to meet her at the train on Wednesday next.
Yours truly,
W. G. GRANT.
“Wednesday next!” said Hugh, “that letter is three days delayed. Patsy couldn’t cross the river. She’ll be there before we can possibly get down. If no one meets her I wonder if she’ll have pluck enough to get into the coach and come on to Donohoe’s.”