Chapter VI.
MAN WORTH LESS THAN BEAST IN DEMERARA.
“What can be the matter with Mitchelson?” said Mr. Bruce one day, when his son was riding with him. “See what a hurry he is in, and how vexed he looks! He is in a downright passion with his favourite mare.”
Mr. Mitchelson smoothed his countenance a little as he approached, but still looked sorely troubled. The cause of his vexation was soon told. His mill-dam had burst, and been carried away at a very critical season, and nothing could repay the loss of time before it could be restored. Time was everything in such a case.
“And how long will it take to repair it?” inquired Alfred.
“Three months,—three precious months, I expect.”
“Is it possible?” said Alfred. “I cannot think it.”
“You judge of everything, son, as if this were England,” said Mr. Bruce. “Our people do not turn off work like the labourers you have been accustomed to see.”
“Mr. Mitchelson must know best, of course,” replied Alfred; “but does your surveyor, or contractor, or whoever he be, bid you wait three months?”
“He will when he hears the story which I am now on my way to tell him. I can’t stop, so good morning.”