"The impertinence of a low fellow like that, must be galling," suggested Sylvia.
"What is he guilty of?" asked Dorcas, who was nearly as much in the dark about many things as Minnie herself, associating as little as possible with the squire or Mr. Dalby.
"Why," answered her brother, "fancy the insolence of one of Burton's tenants, whose grounds adjoin his own, who presumes to pass him without even touching his hat; and had the audacity to try and raise a subscription, to which he offered to give largely (for him—being only a small farmer), to find out the impostor, Miles Tremenhere, and support his claims in another suit to recover the manor-house!"
"Such audacity, indeed," chimed in Sylvia, "in a low farmer!"
"I wonder," said Minnie, looking up in seeming calmness, but the warm heart beat, "whether the smooth-barked poplar has more sap in it than the rough gnarled oak?"
"Good gracious, child!" answered Sylvia tartly; "what do you know about trees?"
"I was not thinking of trees, but men," rejoined the girl quietly.
"Then what did you say 'trees' for?" asked Juvenal, surprised.
"Because, uncle, they represented men to my thought. We know that education and associations refine; but I wonder, whether the rougher class of men was created nearer the slave or brute than the poplar of my thought; whether men are slaves by birth, or to a superior force which makes them such, and makes them bow even their free opinions in subjection to a mightier, not better power."
"Minnie, dear!" cried Dorcas taking her hand, startled by her unusual warmth.