“Oh! I wish you were,” said Inna.
“Why?” gruffly.
“Because you ought; because ’tis right.”
“Oh, bother right! I’m not going; in fact, I can’t. Dick Gregory’s coming over; there’s to be steam threshing in the yard, no end of fun, and I can’t disappoint him. Besides, it can’t be far wrong; doing it under uncle’s very nose;” and away went the boy, out of sight of his cousin’s reproachful eyes.
When Inna came home from the Owl’s Nest in the evening, a drizzling rain had come on. Oscar was absent somewhere with Dick Gregory, the two gentlemen still out; so after tea the little girl sat down with her knitting somewhat [p71] drearily by Mrs. Grant’s side, with tears not far from her eyes, because her cousin would persist in taking these sudden and backward steps.
“I know he’s to be a farmer, but there, even farmers mustn’t be blockheads of dunces, as Oscar’ll be if he don’t alter,” said Mrs. Grant.
“To be a farmer?” inquired Inna.
“Yes, dearie, that’s why his uncle is keeping on the farm. He talked of selling or letting it years ago, when it fell to him by heirship, but he didn’t, but kept it on and on; and when his brother’s orphan came to him, he said he’d keep it for him, if I didn’t mind seeing to it a few years longer; and I said I didn’t, being a farmer’s daughter. I think I’ve made a better farmer than—than your uncle,” laughed the good woman. “So the farm is for Master Oscar.”
“So Oscar is to be a farmer,” mused the little girl, hearkening for his coming, as she sat by the wood fire, while Mrs. Grant went presently to attend to the two hard-working doctors, just come in.
In he came at last.