“What have you been doing, Harry, to make father so cross?” she said at last.
“Nay, nay, mother, nothing at all,” said my father quickly. “It’s all right. Harry and I have been coming to a bit of an understanding—that’s all. We haven’t been quarrelling a bit.”
“Are you sure, dear?” said my mother dubiously.
“Sure? ay!” cried my father. “Why, Harry and I were never better friends.”
“Indeed, no,” I cried excitedly.
“You are both keeping something back from me,” she cried, with her hands trembling and the tears coming into her eyes.
“Oh, no, we won’t keep anything back from you, mother,” said my father kindly. “Harry and I have been talking about his plans.”
“Not for going away?” said my mother; “don’t say that.”
“But I must say it,” said my father. “Harry is quite right. I didn’t like it at first; but, as he says, there are too many of us here, and he is going to seek his fortune in a foreign land.”
“Oh, my boy, my boy!” she cried.