“Well?”
“You see, Miss Dorothy, I shall be of age soon.”
“Really! Well that seems to me a thing you need not look so solemn about. It happens to everyone, more or less, if they live long enough. I shall be of age myself someday, I dare say, but I will try to bear it submissively, if not cheerfully. You’ll get over it, Tom. You may even in time get used to it.”
“Yes, but it will make a great difference to me. For one thing my apprenticeship to your uncle will be at an end.”
“Oh!” said Dorothy, “Well, I should think you’ll be glad of that. Uncle is sure to want you to stop on at the mill—I know he thinks well of you.”
“It is very good of him” said Tom and smiled as he thought of the day when his master had lifted his riding whip in quick, passionate anger. But that was long gone bye. “But I don’t think I shall stop on, in fact I’m sure I shan’t.”
“You won’t leave Holmfirth, will you, Tom?” and she was surprised at the interest with which she awaited his reply.
“You see,” said Tom, slowly, and colouring as if he were confessing to a crime “I’ve had a bit of money left and Ben and me, that is Ben and I.”
“Oh! bother the grammar” cried Dorothy.
“Ben and me’s going into partnership, and there’s a little mill at Hinchliffe Mill where we can get room and power. Higher up the river, you know. We will try not to send you more dye-water down stream than we can help. I shall always think when I draw the plugs that the water will pass your window, Miss Dorothy.” Tom was distinctly improving.