“And, Philip, Davie has tried to take his father’s place among us. Davie is our bread-winner, in a measure. We have had many cares and anxieties together. No wonder that he seems to you to be grave and older than his years.”
“Aunt Mary, what an idle, good-for-nothing fellow you must think me,” said Philip, putting down little Mary, who had been sitting on his knee, and standing before his aunt.
“Not good-for-nothing, certainly. Perhaps, a little idle and thoughtless. There is time for improvement and—room. Let us hope you will know your own mind soon, which you certainly do not now.”
“Let us hope so,” said Philip, with a sigh. “Here comes Davie! Now, observe him! He will not look in the least glad to see me.”
“Where are all the rest?” said Davie, coming in.
“Davie, do you know, I have been persuading your mother to let you go with me to the Red River,” said Philip. “Wouldn’t you like it?”
“It is very good of you. Yes, I dare say I would like it. What does mamma say?”
“She thinks you are too useful a man to be spared so long. What would Mr Caldwell do without you?”
“When are you coming to help him?” said David.
“After I come home in the autumn. I cannot bring myself to Davie’s standard of steadiness all at once, Aunt Mary. I must have a little time.”