“Come, come, child; let us talk of matters you understand. Are you glad to see our old friend, March, back again? You like Hurry, and must know that one day he may be your brother—if not something nearer.”
“That can't be, father,” returned the girl, after a considerable pause; “Hurry has had one father, and one mother; and people never have two.”
“So much for your weak mind, Hetty. When Jude marries, her husband's father will be her father, and her husband's sister her sister. If she should marry Hurry, then he will be your brother.”
“Judith will never have Hurry,” returned the girl mildly, but positively; “Judith don't like Hurry.”
“That's more than you can know, Hetty. Harry March is the handsomest, and the strongest, and the boldest young man that ever visits the lake; and, as Jude is the greatest beauty, I don't see why they shouldn't come together. He has as much as promised that he will enter into this job with me, on condition that I'll consent.”
Hetty began to move her body back and forth, and other-wise to express mental agitation; but she made no answer for more than a minute. Her father, accustomed to her manner, and suspecting no immediate cause of concern, continued to smoke with the apparent phlegm which would seem to belong to that particular species of enjoyment.
“Hurry is handsome, father,” said Hetty, with a simple emphasis, that she might have hesitated about using, had her mind been more alive to the inferences of others.
“I told you so, child,” muttered old Hutter, without removing the pipe from between his teeth; “he's the likeliest youth in these parts; and Jude is the likeliest young woman I've met with since her poor mother was in her best days.”
“Is it wicked to be ugly, father?'”
“One might be guilty of worse things—but you're by no means ugly; though not so comely as Jude.”