As she tripped along, erect and quick, she heard a familiar footstep behind her, and in a moment more was joined by the young man.
“Where are you going?” he said, giving his hat a little careless push and re-settlement, without lifting it from his head. “May I go with you and carry your basket?”
“If you like,” said Margaret, distantly, yielding up to him the little white-covered basket. “I am going to see Uncle Mose.”
“As usual! What has Uncle Mose done to be so petted? I wish you would treat me with half as much consideration.”
“I don’t think you entitled to it,” she answered. “Uncle Mose is at the end of a long life of continuous, patient labor, and has won a right to my consideration, which you never have. You have often heard me say, of course, that ever since I’ve been able to form an opinion at all, I’ve been a thorough-going Abolitionist; but all the same, I think there is virtue in a system which makes a man work, whether he wills it or not. Servitude itself seems to me a nobler life than absolute idleness.”
“Oh, the same old thing!” said the young man, wearily. “I wonder when you will give up expecting me to be a paragon!”
“I’ve given it up long ago. I’ve seen the futility of any such expectation; but I will never give up wishing that you would be a man, and do something worthy of a man.”
“You can’t say I don’t work. I attend to my cases, and am always on hand during court week.”
“Provided it doesn’t clash with fishing week or hunting week, or any pursuit that happens to offer a more attractive prospect than that of discussing county politics and smoking bad tobacco with some other loungers at ‘Martin’s’!”
“I know I am not what you like,” said Somers despondently; “but there is one thing that would make me different. If you would give me some hope for the future——”