“But I do not like deceit.”
“No, it’s not right; although it appears to me that there is a great deal of it. Still I should like you to sham deaf, and then tell me all that people say. It would be so funny. Father never will tell a word.”
“So far, your father, to a certain degree, excuses himself.”
“Well, I think he will soon tell you what I have now told you, but till then you must keep your promise; and now you must do as you please, as I must go down in the kitchen, and get dinner on the fire.”
“I have nothing to do,” replied I; “can I help you?”
“To be sure you can, and talk to me, which is better still. Come down and wash the potatoes for me, and then I’ll find you some more work. Well, I do think we shall be very happy.”
I followed Mary Stapleton down into the kitchen, and we were soon very busy, and very noisy, laughing, talking, blowing the fire, and preparing the dinner. By the time that her father came home we were sworn friends.