"Father, let us put them on to find the good ones, then," Joyce rejoined.
The squire leaned back, and let the old horse go her own pace, and her own way.
"Ah! my little Joyce, that is wise advice. Thank God, I need no spectacles to find out the good in you. I look to you to keep things smooth at home for the next few days, and to help me to do the same. I am quick-tempered, I know, and when I flare out, I am sorry afterwards."
"You don't often 'flare out,' as you say, to me, dear dad."
"What did your aunt say to you to-day?—called you her 'rustic,' I'll answer for it."
"Oh, yes, of course she did; and she wants me to pay a grand visit to Barley Wood."
"To Barley Wood!—to Mrs. Hannah More! Mother won't hear of it. Your aunt had better not meddle. What do you think about it yourself?"
"I should like to pay a visit—a short visit—to Barley Wood. That is quite different from going to school. But with the boys coming home, and Melville and his friend at Fair Acres, I doubt if I could be spared. It might do me good to go, father; I mean, make me all the more useful at home afterwards."
"What do you expect Mrs. Hannah More to do to you?—cut you into a pattern, as she would cut an old woman's cloak, eh? However, if you wish to go, and any more is said, I'll manage it for you. Perhaps no more will be said; your aunt is just as likely to forget all about it."
"Yes, I know that," Joyce said, with a little ring of disappointment in her voice.