“Yes, indeed,” said Graeme, heartily. “Everything has turned out much better than we used to fear. I remember the time when I was quite afraid of Fanny and her fine house—my old perversity, you see.”
“I remember,” said Will, gravely.
“I was quite morbid on the subject, at one time. Mamma Grove was a perfect night-mare to me. And really, she is well! she is not a very formidable person, after all.”
“Well, on the whole, I think we could dispense with mamma Grove,” said Will, with a shrug.
“Oh! that is because she is down upon you in the matter of Master Tom. You will have to take him, Will.”
“Of course. But then, I would do a great deal more than that for Fanny’s brother, without all this talk.”
“But then, without ‘all this talk,’ as you call it, you might not have discovered that the favour is done you, nor that the letter to her English friend will more than compensate you, for going fifty miles out of your way for the boy.”
“Oh! well, it is her way, and a very stupid way. Let her rest.”
“Yes, let her rest. And, Will, you are not to think I am not glad that you are going home. I would choose no other lot for you, than the one that is before you, an opportunity to prepare yourself for usefulness, and a wide field to labour in. Only I am afraid I would stipulate that the field should be a Canadian one.”
“Of course. Canada is my home.”