“Then—it’s plain speaking, but I must give it to you, Harry—you were a young fool to leave it all. You were like the dog with the shadow, you’ve dropped a good mouthful of meat to grasp at nothing. You’d have done better sticking to the soap.”
“I couldn’t, Uncle,” I exclaimed.
“Ah! that’s what all you young donkeys say. Only to think of it—throwing up the chance of a good, sure trade!”
“But, my dear uncle, I was so unsuited for it, though I am ready enough to work. If you can give me employment, pray do so, for do not think I have come to be a burden to you.”
“My dear boy,” he said gravely, “I don’t think anything of the sort. You are welcome here; and we owe you, it seems, the life of our dear child, though what your share was in saving her I don’t know. Don’t think, though, that we are not glad to see you. There,” he said, laughing, “there’s your aunt ready again to throw her arms around your neck, you see.”
Mrs Landell had dropped her work and crossed over to lay her hand upon my shoulder, while there was a tear—one bright, gem-like tear of gratitude—sparkling in Lilla’s eye as she looked up timidly from her work, and that stupid young heart of mine gave a tremendous thump against my chest.
There was a pause then for a few minutes, when, in a thick, husky voice, I once more tried to speak.
“I’m sure,” I said, “your welcome is warmer than I deserve; and indeed, Uncle, I wish to be no burden to you. If you would rather not employ me, say so frankly; but perhaps you might, all the same, put me in the way of getting on as you have done.”
“As I have done!” he said laughing. “I see, my dear boy, you look at things with just the same eyes that I did when I came over years ago. It’s a lovely country, isn’t it, Harry?”
“Glorious!” I cried excitedly.