“Aye, I knaw, I knaw; ’tis a parent’s plaace to stand up for his offspring through fire an’ water; an’ I reckon I won’t be the worst faither as ever was, either. I can mind the time when I was young myself. Stern but kind’s the right rule. Us’ll bring un up in the proper way, an’ teach un to use his onderstandin’ an’ allus knuckle down ’fore his elders. To tell ’e truth, Phoebe, I’ve a notion I might train up a cheel better’n some men.”
“Yes, Will, I think so, tu. But ’tis food an’ clothes an’ li’l boots an’ such-like comes first. A hunderd pounds be such a mort o’ money.”
“’Twill set ’em up in a fair way.”
“Fifty wouldn’t hardly do, p’r’aps?”
“Hardly. I like to carry a job through clean an’ vitty while I’m on it.”
“You’ve got such a big spirit.”
“As to that, money so spent ban’t lost—’tis all in the fam’ly.”
“Of course ’tis a gude advertisement for you. Folk’ll think you’m prosperin’ an’ look up to you more.”
“Well, some might, though I doan’t ’zactly mean it like that. Yet the putting out o’ three figures o’ money must make neighbours ope their eyes. Not that I want anybody to knaw either.”
So, against her judgment, Phoebe was won over, and presently she and her husband made merry at prospect of the great thing contemplated. Will imitated Clement’s short, glum, and graceless manner before the gift; Phoebe began to spend the money and plan the bee-keeper’s cottage when Chris should enter it as a bride; and thus, having enjoyed an hour of delight the most pure and perfect that can fall to human lot, the young couple retired.