“I don’t go out into the woods to do it, but the pitch of my anvil-ring keeps me up to tone, and the practice is quite as good.”
“Allow me to thank you, Blyth, for that very courteous and satisfactory note you sent me yesterday. I own that it was not altogether what I expected. I suspected—I imagined—I thought—that—that”——and the squire felt that he was dealing stupidly with a very delicate subject.
“Yes, I know,” said Nathan Blyth; “you imagined that the blacksmith and his daughter were fishing for the heir of Waverdale Park, and you hoped quietly to convince them that it was a losing game. I’m not offended at that; I suppose it was natural that you should do so. But be sure, sir, that I dread the idea, and hate it, too, quite as much as you do. Don’t misunderstand me. I believe in my conscience that my Lucy is in all respects a prize that any man might wish to win, and I know none for whom I do not hold her to be too good. But I’d rather she mated with somebody in her own rank of life. I should say ‘No’ to Master Philip if he asked for her himself, and I should say ‘No’ to you if you were to ask for him; and if he is a sensible young man, he’ll turn his attention other where, for he may depend upon it he’ll come on a useless errand, if he comes at all.”
Human nature is a queer article, and the squire’s feelings as he heard this would have been difficult to analyse. His satisfaction was great at the thought that there was no fear of counter-plotting, but, strange to say, he felt more than half inclined to feel insulted. Here was a grimy smith, with naked arms and leather apron, standing, hammer in hand, by his smithy fire, coldly intimating that his daughter was too dainty a prize for his own son, and scorning the bare idea of such an alliance with as much independence as if he were a “belted earl.” The blue blood surged a little in the veins of the stately squire, but, restraining himself, he was fain to be content with facts, and, mounting his horse, he bade the sturdy Vulcan a cold and distant “Good-morrow,” and betook him to his ancestral park.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
Aud Adam Olliver “Sees about it.”
“Age, by long experience well informed,