Trafford turned about with an impatient word upon his lips, but it was not spoken. It seemed to him as if his dead brother stood before him,—as he had known him when they were boys together,—and that those words were meant for a reproach. He put out his hand and touched Noll's shoulder, as if to make sure that it was really his nephew and no vision.
"Ah!" said he, with a sigh, "your father looks out at me from your eyes, Noll. Turn them away from me. Go to Culm, if you like,—you have my permission."
"Breakfas's waitin' fur ye!" said Hagar, at the door.
"But, Uncle Richard," said Noll, in some perplexity, "I don't like to go and have you all the time wishing me at home."
"I cannot help that," said Trafford, as he rose to answer Hagar's call. "I have given you permission,—go."
The breakfast was a silent one. After it was over, and the door had closed upon the grim master of the house as he went back to his books, Hagar said,—
"Don't ye let nuffin make ye downhearted, honey! De Lord'll help ye, ef yer Uncle Dick won't. 'Tain't de might nor de money dat'll do eberyting, chile. All 'pends on whether de Lord's on yer side. Jes' come in my ole kitchen and see what I's put up fur ye to carry to dem yer mis'able folks."
