It was so rare for the farmer to speak in this downright fashion that the boy was alarmed. He knew not what lay behind; but he had not earned his reputation for honesty on insufficient grounds.
“No, they’re not,” he said.
Bolland groaned. “T’ minister said so. Why not?”
“I can hardly explain. For one thing, I don’t understand what I read. And often I would like to be out in the fields or on the moor when I’m forced to be here. All the same, I do try hard, and if I thought it would please you and mother, I’d do much more than give up half an hour a day.”
“Ay, ay. ’Tis compulsion, not love. I telt t’ minister that Paul urged insistence in season an’ out o’ season, but he held that the teachin’ applied te doctrine, an’ not te Bible lessons for t’ young. Well, Martin, I’ve weighed this thing, an’ not without prayer. I’ve seen many a field spoiled by bad farmin’, an’, when yer muther calls my own hired men te help her ageän me; when a lad like you goes fightin’ young gentlemen aboot a lass; when yon Frenchified ninny eggs ye on te spend money like watter, an’ yer muther gies ye t’ brass next day te pay Mrs. Saumarez, lest it should reach my ears—why, I’ve coom te believe that my teachin’ is mistakken.”
Martin was petrified at hearing his delinquencies laid bare in this manner. He had not realized that the extravagant display of Monday must evoke comment in a small village, and that Bolland could not fail to interpret correctly his wife’s anxiety to hush up all reference to it. He blushed and held his tongue, for the farmer was speaking again.
“T’ upshot of all this is that I’ve sought counsel. Ye’re an honest lad, I will say that fer ye, but ye’re a lad differin’ frae those of yer age i’ Elmsdale. If all goes well wi’ me, ye’ll nivver want food nor lodgin’, but an idle man is a wicked man, nine times out o’ ten, an’ I’d like te see ye sattled i’ summat afore I go te my rest. You’re not cut out fer t’ ministry, ye’re none for farmin’, an’ I’d sooner see ye dead than dancin’ around t’ countryside after women, like poor George Pickerin’. Soa ye mun gang te college an’ sharpen yer wits, an’ happen fower or five years o’ delvin’ i’ books’ll shape yer life i’ different gait te owt I can see at this minnit. What think you on’t?”
“Oh, I should like it better than anything else in the world.”
The boy’s eyes sparkled at this most unlooked-for announcement. Never before had his heart so gone out to the rugged old man whose stern glance was now searching him through the horn-rimmed spectacles.