"Yes, the entire day, in which you both are to do just what I wish. You are not going gallivanting to the city, but will have to work hard."
"Well, I'm beat! I don't know what you want any more than I did at first."
"Yes, you do—your time and Hiram's."
"Give it up. It's hardly the season for a picnic. We might go fishing—"
"We must go to bed, so as to be up early, all hands."
"Oh, hold on, Sue; I do like this wood-fire. If it wouldn't make you vain, I'd tell you how—"
"Pretty, father. Say it out."
"Oh, you know it, do you? Well, how pretty you look in the firelight. Even mother, there, looks ten years younger. Keep your low seat, child, and let me look at you. So you're eighteen? My! my! how the years roll around! It WILL be Bleak House for mother and me, in spite of the wood-fire, when you leave us."
"It won't be Bleak House much longer," she replied with a significant little nod.
The next morning at an early hour the farmer said, "All ready, Sue. Our time is yours till night; so queen it over us." And black Hiram grinned acquiescence, thinking he was to have an easy time.