"Father is depressed," I added. "I don't think he's quite so cheerful and hopeful as he used to be, and I am sure you would do him good."
Frank laughed. "Very well," said he, turning down the lane with me, "if your mother is displeased, Miss Margaret, let it be on your head."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of mother," I said, although in truth I was very much afraid of her. "She will be pleased enough if you cheer up father. And if you tell him some good news of his plan about the poor little children, you will cheer him up."
"He mustn't set his heart too much upon that just at present," said Frank, in a cool, business-like kind of way. "There's a deal of hard, patient work to be done at that before it'll take any shape, you know."
"Yes, I understand," said I; "but who is going to do the work?"
He looked a bit put out for the moment, but he said, cheerily: "Ah, that's just it. We must find the proper man—the man for the place—then it'll go like a house on fire." And then he turned and fixed his brown eyes on me, as was his wont, and said, "But how is it that this bailiff hasn't roused your father's heart in his own work more, and made him forget these outside schemes?"
I flushed with anger; I thought the remark unjustifiable.
"I hear he's a clever fellow," continued the captain. "That's it, I suppose. He prefers to go his own gait. Although they tell me"—he said this as if he were paying me a compliment—"they tell me you can twist him round your little finger."
"Who are they?" cried I, my lip trembling. "They had best mind their own business."
He laughed gayly. "The same as ever, I see," he said. "But you might well be proud of such a feat. He struck me as a tough customer the only time I saw him."