"Worry him!" The anger which he found harder to subdue than any hunger showed in his face, and brought more resemblance to his father than either would have cared to see. "How else am I going to live? I've seen wild things in the woods, and they all have weapons, one way or the other. The daft ones just die."
For a moment her courage seemed to faint, but she straightened her back and spoke with her infectious hopefulness, her determination that all was, or should be, well.
"He's impatient, I know, but you're a bit of a mule, Alexander. And you're both mine, and I won't let my belongings disagree. You've just got to put up with it."
"And am I not putting up with it?" he flamed out.
"Alec, I'll tell you something. Will you understand? It's this way with some women, as perhaps you'll see for yourself some day, when you've a woman of your own. I feel sometimes that you two are both my sons, and I've got to deal fairly by you both, and see that you do fairly by each other. Now you've a bigger will than he has—you've found that out already, and there's no harm in saying it—and it's for you to help, not hinder, him. But mind, he's a better man than you are—yet. It's just that he's weak in some ways. There's no need for you to despise him on that account. Wait till you are tempted or—or see trouble. You're just a baby, you know nothing, and you see fit to judge, when your real business is to be a good son to him, never you mind what he is to you. Call him your brother, and you'll find it easier. Not that I want to make your way easier." She paused. "But I'd strew roses for him. Have you got the geese in?" she added sharply.
Edward Webb's talk with Alexander was interrupted by Clara's command that the lamp be lighted, and Rutherford's entrance with the coal.
"We shall have a lot of rain yet," he said.
"Steep Water's getting fuller every minute," said Alexander. "D'you hear her? She runs underground just behind the house, and out again by the inn. She's roaring."
"We shall have a fine night of shaking windows, and howling wind, and creaking trees," said Clara, coming from the scullery. "This old house will blow down some day."
"No, no; it's rooted well."