“In realising the fable of the boys and the frogs with the poor old Dominie, forgetting that what may be sport to you is death to him.”
“You don’t mean to say that he’ll die of love,” replied Mary, laughing.
“I should hope not: but you may contrive, and you have tried all in your power, to make him very wretched.”
“And, pray, how do you know that I do not like the old gentleman, Jacob? You appear to think that a girl is to fall in love with nobody but yourself. Why should I not love an old man with so much learning? I have been told that old husbands are much prouder of their wives than young ones, and pay them more attention, and don’t run after other women. How do you know that I am not serious?”
“Because I know your character, Mary, and am not to be deceived. If you mean to defend yourself in that way, we had better not talk any more.”
“Lord, how savage you are! then, suppose I did pay the old gentleman any attention. Did the young ones pay me any? Did either you, or your precious friend, Mr Tom, even speak to me?”
“No; we saw how you were employed, and we both hate a jilt.”
“Oh, you do. Very well, sir; just as you please. I may make both your hearts ache for this some day or another.”
“Forewarned, forearmed, Mary; and I shall take care that they are both forewarned as well as myself. As I perceive that you are so decided, I shall say no more. Only, for your own sake, and your own happiness, I caution you. Recollect your mother, Mary, and recollect your mother’s death.”
Mary covered her face and burst into tears. She sobbed for a few minutes, and then came to me. “You are right, Jacob; and I am a foolish—perhaps wicked—girl; but forgive me, and indeed I will try to behave better. But, as father says, it is human nature in me, and it’s hard to conquer our natures, Jacob.”