“Nobody will say different, but that is not what I am wanting to talk to thee about. Listen to me now, my dear lad! What art thou going to do? I am in earnest anxiety. Tell me, my brother.”
The squire was silent and looked steadily down on the table for a few minutes. Josepha did not by the slightest movement interfere but her steady, kindly gaze was fixed upon the silent man. Perhaps he felt, though he did not see, the love that shone upon him, for he lifted his face with a broad smile, and answered—
“My dear lass, I don’t know.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. Now speak straight words to me as plain as thou spoke to the Annis weavers last week.”
“My dear sister, I shall do right, and let come what will.”
“And what does tha call doing right?”
“I think of two ways and both seem right to me.”
“What are they? Perhaps I can help thee to decide that one is better than the other. Dear lad, I want to help thee to do the best thing possible for thysen, and thy children.”
There was no resisting the persuasion in her face, voice and manner, and the squire could not resist its influence. “Josey,” he said, as he covered her small plump hand with his own in a very masterful way—“Josey! Josey! I am in the thick of a big fight with mysen. I did really promise a crowd of Annis weavers that if the Reform Bill passed I would build a mill and give them all work, and that would let them come home again. Tha sees, they all own, or partly own, their cottages, and if I can’t find them work, they will hev to give up their homes mebbe, to a varry great disadvantage.”
“To be plain with thee, thou could in such a case, buy them all back for a song.”