When the time came for Edward to leave school, he announced that he had no intention of taking orders, but meant to become an attorney.
“It’s such slow work,” said he to his mother. “One toils away for four or five years, and then one gets a curacy of seventy pounds a-year, and no end of work to do for the money. Now the work is not much harder in a lawyer’s office, and if one has one’s wits about one, there are hundreds and thousands a-year to be picked up with mighty little trouble.”
Mrs. Browne was very sorry for this determination. She had a great desire to see her son a clergyman, like his father. She did not consider whether his character was fitted for so sacred an office; she rather thought that the profession itself, when once assumed, would purify the character; but, in fact, his fitness or unfitness for holy orders entered little into her mind. She had a respect for the profession, and his father had belonged to it.
“I had rather see you a curate at seventy pounds a-year, than an attorney with seven hundred,” replied she. “And you know your father was always asked to dine everywhere—to places where I know they would not have asked Mr. Bish, of Woodchester, and he makes his thousand a-year. Besides, Mr. Buxton has the next presentation to Combehurst, and you would stand a good chance for your father’s sake. And in the mean time you should live here, if your curacy was any way near.”
“I dare say! Catch me burying myself here again. My dear mother, it’s a very respectable place for you and Maggie to live in, and I dare say you don’t find it dull; but the idea of my quietly sitting down here is something too absurd!”
“Papa did, and was very happy,” said Maggie.
“Yes! after he had been at Oxford,” replied Edward, a little nonplussed by this reference to one whose memory even the most selfish and thoughtless must have held in respect.
“Well! and you know you would have to go to Oxford first.”
“Maggie! I wish you would not interfere between my mother and me. I want to have it settled and done with, and that it will never be if you keep meddling. Now, mother, don’t you see how much better it will be for me to go into Mr. Bish’s office? Harry Bish has spoken to his father about it.”
Mrs. Browne sighed.