“Ah, father! back early to-day!”
“Father!” snapped the captain, as he flung himself upon a sofa. “Why will you insist on calling me by that name? Haven’t I repeatedly asked you not to?”
“So you have Paul, so you have; and I’ve repeatedly disobeyed you,” cheerfully answered the good woman. “I didn’t mean to; but women are so forgetful! I’ll be more careful in future, fath—Dear me, there it is again!”
“There, there! what’s the use of talking to you? But I won’t have it. I tell you I’m no father. I won’t be a father. When that boy took the reins in his own hands, I cut him out of my heart. I’ll never, never own him!”
Mrs. Thompson bit her lips. Evidently the cross was bearing down hard upon her. Only an instant, and the smile came back.
“You rode up from the bridge. Been over to Delia’s?”
“Yes, I’ve been over to Delia’s. That woman, and that woman’s young ones, will drive me crazy.”
“Then I wouldn’t go over there, if I were you. Let me be your messenger in future.”
“No, marm. I’ve taken this case into my own hands, and I mean to finish it. When Sleeper disappeared, I told you not to go near them, for I knew that you would be just foolish enough to fix them up so comfortably, she would lead an idle life; and I wasn’t going to have anything of the kind going on. She’s got to come to hard work, and she might as well commence first as last. Its a mystery to me how she’s got along so well as she has.”
It was no mystery to Mrs. Thompson. She had been forbidden to go, but not to send; and many and heavy had been the burdens her messengers had carried across the river to the little brown house on the hill.