“O, stop. That’s not what I want. Couldn’t I work in one of the mills?”
“Yes, I suppose you could; but I wouldn’t, at least until after we’ve had a consultation with my angel mother.”
“Then let’s have one, quick. I’m determined to earn money some way; and if you don’t find me something better I will blow the bellows for Mr. Fox.”
“Well, I’ll come over to-night, and we’ll have a grand council of war. Good by, Becky.”
“Good by, Harry.”
He turned up the road, and she stood and watched him as he stepped briskly along, swinging the key in his hand, and whistling merrily.
“He’s just splendid! O, if I was only a man, to follow him into the world! For this life will not content him long. He’s restless now, eager to be at work among men. And he’ll go, too. And, O, dear! how lonesome it will be without him!”
Even then Becky felt a lonesome shadow gliding into her heart with its oppressive weight, felt the tears gathering in her eyes. Then, when he was still in sight! How would it be when he should be far, far away?
Yet she stood and watched as he descended the hill, till he was out of sight; longer still, her eyes fixed upon the spot from which he had vanished, her thoughts shaping themselves into queer notions of the future, in girlhood’s flattering mirror of romance, building bright pictures of renown for him,—her hero,—in which she bore no part.
From this sudden romantic attack she was aroused by the appearance of another figure in the place on which her eyes were fixed. Slowly toiling up the hill came a girl, pale-featured, poorly-clad, deformed, and crippled. With the aid of a crutch she stumped along the path until she reached the school-house; then, with a pleasant nod to Becky, and a sigh of relief, she seated herself upon the steps.