"So Miles has his wish, after all. Are you pleased, Annie?" says he.
"No," says I; "it isn't what I'd have chosen for the boy. And you know that," says I.
"Maybe the boy wouldn't choose it for himself now," says he.
"I didn't know," I said. Miles was happy enough I could see. He liked flowers, and he liked the pony; and he would do anything in the world for Master Bertram.
"Well, it don't seem we've much choice yet awhile," says Jervis. "They'd have him in the works at Littleburgh; but he wouldn't earn what he's earning now, and you couldn't do with less."
"And you don't mind?" says I, wondering to myself. He had such a peaceful sort of look.
"It don't do no good to worry," says he; "only makes other folks wretched. I'm laid here, and I've got to lie here, just as long as God tells me to. That's where it is, Annie," says he. "Seems to me, I've learnt a deal lying here, and I shouldn't wonder if I've got more to learn."
"More of what?" says I.
"More of God's love, and more of God's will," says he. "It's uncommon little I've known till now. And I'm sure of one thing," says he; "I'm sure God will take care of my little woman for me, now I can do nothing."
Then he wanted to know what I was thinking of doing; and the wonder had been often enough in my own mind. For of course we couldn't go on much longer in these lodgings, letting Mr. Kingscote pay so much for us. He had spoken of doing it three months, and the three months were running fast away.