“Sit down, John,” said his mother; “I like to see your face.”
John laughed.
“Shall I light the candle, mother?”
“There is no haste about it. I have more to say. It is this. You may be quite right in the decision to which you have come. You are young yet, and the time which you may think you have lost, may be in your favour. You have a stronger body than you might have had if you had been at your books all these years; and you have got experience, and I hope some wisdom, that your books could not have given you. I am quite content that you should have your will.”
“Thank you, mother. That is a glad hearing for me. I could have had little pleasure in my work, going against your wish and will.”
“Well, take pleasure in it now. If I held back for a while, it was only that I thought I saw a chance of a better kind of happiness for you. The sort of work matters less than we think. If it is done well, that is the chief thing. And you have been a good son to your mother.”
“Thank you, mother. I hope you will never have to say less of me than that. And now is it settled?”
“Now it’s settled—as far as words can settle it, and may God bless you and—keep you all your days.”
She had almost said, “comfort you!” but she kept it back, and said it only in her heart.
Though Mrs Beaton’s preparations were well advanced, there was still something to do. It could be done without John’s help, however, and he left as usual, early in the morning. It was a good while before he saw Nethermuir again.