"Why won't it do?"
"Because we want the boy in our business; and we must live too, you know,--and our little girl."
"See here," said Peter Mike: "I'll show you that I mean you well. I'll give you a hundred florins,--not for the boy, but so that you can go about some other business,--a trade in dishes, or something of that kind. A hundred florins is something. What do you say?"
The parents looked at each other sorrowfully.
"Crescence, do you talk. I've nothing more to say: whatever you do, I'm satisfied."
"Why, I don't think the boy'll want to stay and leave us. You mean well, I know that; but the child might die of home-sickness."
"I'll ask him," said Peter Mike, leaving the parents more astonished than ever; for habitual poverty deprives people of the power of forming resolutions, and makes them surprised to find this faculty in others. Neither spoke: they dreaded the forthcoming answer, whatever it might be.
Peter Mike returned, leading Freddie by the hand. He nodded significantly, and Freddie cried, "Yes, I'll stay with cousin: he's going to give me a whip and a horse."
Crescence wept; but Florian said, "Well, then, let's go; what must be, the sooner it's done the better."
He went down-stairs, packed the cart, and hitched the dog. Peter Mike brought him the money.