“Repining is useless, if not sinful,” observed Mary Percival. “We have much to be thankful for; at least we are independent, and if we are ever to repay the kindness of our uncle and aunt, who must feel their change of condition so much more than we do, it must be by cheerfulness and content. I have been thinking as well as you, Alfred, and I’ll tell you what was in my thoughts. I looked forward to a few years, by which time, as the country fills up so fast, it is very probable that we shall have other settlers here as neighbours, in every direction. This will give us security. I also fancied that my uncle’s farm and property became of value and importance, and that he himself became a leading man in the district; not only at his ease, but, for a settler, even wealthy; and then I fancied that, surrounded by others, in perfect security, and in easy and independent circumstances, my uncle would not forget the great sacrifice which my cousin Alfred so nobly made, and would insist upon his returning to that profession, to which he is so much attached, and in which I have no doubt but that he will distinguish himself.”
“Well said, my sweet prophet,” said Alfred, kissing his cousin, “you have more sense than both of us.”
“Answer for yourself, Alfred, if you please,” said Emma, tossing her head as if affronted. “I shall not forget that remark of yours, I can assure you. Now, I prophesy quite the contrary; Alfred will never go to sea again. He will be taken with the charms of some Scotch settler’s daughter; some Janet or Moggy, and settle down into a Canadian farmer, mounted on a long-legged black pony.”
“And I too,” replied Alfred, “prophesy, that at the same time that I marry and settle as you have described, Miss Emma Percival will yield up her charms to some long-legged black nondescript sort of a fellow, who will set up a whisky-shop and instal his wife as barmaid to attend upon and conciliate his customers.”
“Emma, I think you have the worst of this peeping into futurity,” said Mary, laughing.
“Yes, if Alfred were not a false prophet, of which there are always many going about,” replied Emma; “however, I hope your prophecy may be the true one, Mary, and then we shall get rid of him.”
“I flatter myself that you would be very sorry if I went away; you would have no one to tease, at all events,” replied Alfred, “and that would be a sad loss to yourself.”
“Well, there’s some sense in that remark,” said Emma; “but the cows are waiting to be milked, and so, Mr Alfred, if you are on your good behaviour, you had better go and bring us the pails.”
“I really pity Alfred,” said Mary, as soon as he was out of hearing; “his sacrifice has been very great, and, much as he must feel it, how well he bears up against it.”
“He is a dear, noble fellow,” replied Emma; “and I do love him very much, although I cannot help teasing him.”