“She may have more wealthy suitors.”
“She may certainly, or she may not; but in any case it won’t make much difference. If you loike her, which I blieve ye do, and she loike you, we’ll strike a bargain.”
John Ashbrook shook the old farmer warmly by the hand.
“I cannot tell you how supremely happy you have made me,” he murmured, “and only wish I had a fortune to lay at your daughter’s feet.”
“But you’ve got time afore ye, lad. Ye’re young, and ha’ got common sense.”
“No one can be too clever for a farmer. I haven’t been in the world without knowing that.”
“You’re right, John. The more a man larns our trade the better he finds out how little he really knows, an’ I’ve often thought that if God gave a man the grace to live a thousand years, like Methusalem of old, he wouldn’t be able to tackle the ins and outs of the weathers, and manners, and stock, and markets, and all the rest of it. Well, John, most people who have saved a little money and bought a little land like to keep their children waiting for it till they die, and then folks wonder there aint more tears shed over burials. Now, I aint one of that sort. My daughter is now my only care, and if so be as she and you make up your minds to be one—which I dare say ye have for a long time past—ye shall have a fair start in life. You’ve got your head screwed on the right way, lad, and what I put by for poor Phil shall be yours.”
“Oh! Mr. Jamblin, I have no right to it.”
“I tell ’ee ye have, and that’s sartain. You shall have a good start, and as Oakfield Farm aint what it was, let Richard and your sister have it. You can work this for awhile under my direction, and in time, when I be gathered to my faythers—well, then it’ll be yours and Patty’s. There, I can’t say much fairer than that.”
The farmer sent forth vigorous puffs of smoke from his pipe after he had delivered himself of this speech, and his companion, who was perfectly overwhelmed by his generosity, could not for the moment find words to express his gratitude.