"You can, though. Explain clearly, and I'll try my best."
He did so, and so did I. I think he even managed to knock something of the matter into my stupid head, where it remained—for ten minutes! Much longer remained the impression of his energetic talk—his clear-headed way of putting before another what he understood so well himself. I marvelled how he had gained all his information.
"Oh! it's easy enough, when one has a natural propensity for catching hold of facts; and then, you know, I always had a weakness for machinery; I could stand for an hour watching a mill at work, especially if it's worked by a great water-wheel."
"Would you like to be a mill-owner?"
"Shouldn't I!"—with a sunshiny flash, which soon clouded over. "However, 'tis idle talking; one cannot choose one's calling—at least, very few can. After all, it isn't the trade that signifies—it's the man. I'm a tanner, and a capital tanner I intend to be. By-the-by, I wonder if Mrs. Tod, who talks so much about 'gentlefolk,' knows that latter fact about you and me?"
"I think not; I hope not. Oh, David! this one month at least let us get rid of the tan-yard."
For I hated it more than ever now, in our quiet, free, Arcadian life; the very thought of it was insupportable, not only for myself, but for John.
He gently blamed me, yet, I think, he involuntarily felt much as I did, if he would have allowed himself so to feel.
"Who would guess now that I who stand here, delighting myself in this fresh air and pleasant view, this dewy common, all thick with flowers—what a pretty blue cluster that is at your foot, Phineas!—who would guess that all yesterday I had been stirring up tan-pits, handling raw hides? Faugh! I wonder the little harebells don't sicken in these, my hands—such ugly hands, too!"
"Nonsense, John! they're not so bad, indeed; and if they were, what does it matter?"