“You, Mary, what can you teach him?”
“Never mind, we shall see;” and Mary turned the discourse on her father. “You know, I suppose, that father is gone up to Mr Turnbull’s.”
“No, I did not.”
“Yes, he has; he was desired to go there this morning, and hasn’t been back since. Jacob, I hope you won’t be so foolish again, for I don’t want to lose my master.”
“Oh, never fear; I shall teach you all you want to know before I die,” I replied.
“Don’t be too sure of that,” replied Mary; “how do you know how much I may wish to have of your company?”
“Well, if I walk off in a hurry, I’ll make you over to young Tom Beazeley. You’re half in love with him already, you know,” replied I, laughing.
“Well, he is a nice fellow,” replied she; “he laughs more than you do, Jacob.”
“He has suffered less,” replied I, gloomily, calling to mind what had occurred; “but, Mary, he is a fine young man, and a good-hearted, clever fellow to boot; and when you do know him, you will like him very much.” As I said this, I heard her father coming up stairs; he came in high good-humour with his interview with Captain Turnbull, called for his pipe and pot, and was excessively fluent upon “human natur’.”