“You!—you little mite! Brought your knowledge of rhubarb to good use, eh? What’s the matter with papa?”
“He has not been well for a long while. I don’t know what it is. Mr. Darbyshire says”—she dropped her voice a little—“that he is sure there’s something on his mind.”
“Poor old dad!—just like him! If a woman came in with a broken arm, he’d take it to heart.”
“Benjamin, I think it is you that he has most at heart,” the girl took courage to say.
Mr. Benjamin laughed. “Me! He needn’t trouble about me. I am as steady as old Time, Maggie. I’ve come home to stay; and I’ll prove to him that I am.”
“Come home to stay!” faltered Margaret.
“I can take care of things here. I am better able to do it than you.”
“My father will not put me out of my place here,” said Margaret, steadily. “He has confidence in me; he knows I do things just as he does.”
“And for that reason he makes you his substitute! Don’t assume, Miss Maggie; you’d be more in your place stitching wristbands in the parlour than as the presiding genius in a drug-shop. How d’ye do, mother?”