“Well, master,” said our old servant, with his hard, dry face brightening up into a smile, “I think we can beat them all round; but if you are going on enclosing fresh clearings from the forest, I must have more help.” My father shook his head and Morgan went on, “The other gentlemen are going aboard, one after another; why don’t you go too, sir?”
“If I went, it would be to try to put a stop to it, Morgan, and cry shame on my neighbours for what they are doing.”
“Ah, well, master, I’ve done,” said Morgan. “I’ll work till I drop, and I can do no more.”
My father turned to the old-fashioned desk he had brought from home, and went on writing a letter, while, after giving him a look full of vexation, our man gave his straw hat a flop against his side, and went out.
I was not long in following and overtaking him by the rough fence which enclosed our garden.
“Morgan! Morgan!” I cried.
“Well, Master George, boy, what is it?”
“What did you want father to do?”
“Go and ask him.”
“No, I shan’t; I shall ask you. Did you want him to buy something to help in the garden?”