“Yet this afternoon you would not allow that I could help papa,” put in Olivia, reproachfully.
“Didn’t I rather suggest that the help you really gave was of a different kind from what you imagined?”
“She gives me help of all kinds,” said her father affectionately.
“She’s my clerk and my comforter; and I think if the farm-hands struck work, she’d take to the plough as naturally as she’s taken to the poultry.”
“Well, I’d certainly try my hand at it,” said the girl laughing. “I suppose the chief qualifications are a steady hand and a correct eye, and both those I’ve acquired at billiards.”
“My dear Olivia, you mustn’t own to playing billiards before a clergyman!”
“And why not, Mr. Denison?” asked Vernon. “I love a good game of billiards myself; and the strongest reasons that keep me out of old Williams’s billiard-room up at the Manor Hall are old Williams’ inability to play a decent game, and his son’s inability to make a decent remark.”
Olivia gave an exclamation of disgust at this passing allusion to her importunate admirer: Mr. Denison seemed relieved by the clergyman’s admission.
“I’ve not come much in contact with gentlemen of your calling,” said he; “and I have rather a feeling that I must be on my best behavior before them.”
“A very proper feeling, and one that I wish you could communicate to some of the gentlemen engaged in mining occupations among my parishioners. It’s a much healthier symptom than throwing bricks.”