“That’s it! That’s just it! My father says ’at she has its teachings so deep down inside her ’at she can’t forget them, an’ doesn’t need to read ’em so much. He says her keeping the meals regular an’ well-cooked, an’ the house sun-shiny an’ clean, an’ herself good-tempered through all her hard work, has taught him a beautiful lesson. Think of it! Just Mary Jane teaching my papa! Anyhow, I love her, an’ I came to bid her good-by. ’Cause I’m off to Rookwood an’ lessons an’ fun, now! Where is she? Do you know?”
“No, ner keer; an’ you’re a ungrateful little girl. Thar I sot, all yisterday arternoon, a crackin’ butternuts an’ pickin’ the meats fer ye— an’ ye never! Well, well; it’s a hard kind o’ world.”
“Puss-ley! Do shet up, an’ git up an’ take a holt o’ some kind o’ job, brother Resolved! You’re enough ter make a critter backslide, a lookin’ at yer limpsey-lumpsey laziness!”
“Thar! Thar Steenie Calthorp! Ye hear her? That’s yer fine Ch—”
“Please don’t quarrel, dear folks! Don’t! An’ it isn’t so bad, is it? We’ll all be so cosey an’ cunning in the little new house. Good-by, Mary Jane. Dear, dear Mary Jane! I love you! You’re so lively an’ kind, an’ fly-about-y! You make everybody feel so good, dear Mary Jane! Good-by.”
At the door the child paused; her conscience upbraided her for manifesting the partiality she could not help feeling, and with a sudden dash across the room, she caught Mr. Tubbs’s neck in her arms and gave him a hearty kiss. Then she darted out again, and in a moment was speeding down the street toward Rookwood, where she still went every day, but now quite by herself. Tito had for some weeks been domiciled in Judge Courtenay’s roomy stables, and his little mistress saw him daily. Almost daily, also, she had a long ride on his back, so that she scarcely missed him from the High-Street home; and thus one trouble which had seemed unendurable in prospect became quite the contrary in reality.
“Because, you see, Mary Jane, they isn’t any nice cunning little barn to keep him in at the new cottage, so I’m glad after all.”
“Yis, dearie; an’ so you’ll find out, long’s you live. Trouble is a great hand ter stan’ a ways off an’ make up faces at ye: an’ ye feel’s if ye couldn’t endure it, no way. But jest you pluck up spunk ever’ time, an’ march straight up ter the old thing, and there,—lo! an’ behold!—she’s a grinnin’ an’ a smilin’ as if she’s the best friend you’ve got. An’ most the times she is. Folks ’at don’t have no real trouble ter git along with, don’t gen’ally amount ter shucks. Life ain’t all catnip; an’ it hain’t meant ter be. An’ ye better, by far, bear the yoke in yer youth ’an in yer old age.”
“Like Mr. Resolved? He’s bearing it now, isn’t he, in his old age? Is that what you mean?”
“Not by a jug-full! He ain’t a bearin’—nothin’; he’s squat right down under it, an’ a lettin’ it squash all the marrer o’ religion out o’ his poor old bones. Foolish brother Resolved! I’ve be’n a bolsterin’ an’ a highsterin’ him up all my life, an’ I ’spect I’ll have ter continner on ter the end. No matter; I didn’t have the choosin’ o’ my own trials er I wouldn’t a chose that kind o’ relations. An’ the good Lord is a lookin’ out fer poor Mary Jane; so why should she bother ter look out fer herself?”