The invalid was now able to move around without assistance. Patsy’s heart was full of fear and trembling.
The next morning she did not come down to print the butter or bring her father his early morning coffee. The girl had eloped with Walter Jones.
“This is worse than breaking my leg,” said Mr. Benton, after his first indignation had subsided.
When he could speak calmly about his trouble to his wife, he wondered what made Patsy so thoughtless and undutiful, when she was an only daughter and had everything she wanted.
“She is very much like her father,” said Mrs. Benton, “and she thought marriage would set her free—emancipate her.”
“That’s pure folly,” said Mr. Benton, “for all females are and ought to be always controlled by their male relations. Nothing on God’s earth can emancipate a woman. She only changes masters when she marries and leaves her father’s house.”
“Patsy, then, has changed masters,” said his wife, “and she seems to be very happy—in her own little home.”
“Old woman, don’t get saucy, and I will tell you something,” said he. “I have sent to the city for some flower-garden truck, and Maitre has sent me up fifty dollars’ worth of what he calls first-class stuff on the last boat, and I am going over to give it to Pat to plant. Tom shall do the work for her, too. To tell you the real downright truth, you all made me feel cheap about chopping up her things, and I am going to replace them.”
“Oh, I am so glad!” said Mrs. Benton.
“Yes,” said Mr. Benton, “I am perfectly willing to restore forty times as much as I destroyed. Pat’s a trump, anyhow, and I shall never go back on her for anything she has ever done. You can rely on that for a fact.”