'Shall we not have any servants then?' Dods had asked. 'Do you mean that mamma—mamma and Ida and the little ones—I don't mind for myself, I'm a boy; I'll go to sea as a common sailor if it would be any good—but do you mean, that we shall be like really poor people?' And here there came a choke in his voice that made me feel as if I could scarcely keep from crying. For I knew what he was thinking of—the idea of mamma, our pretty mamma, with her merry laugh and nice dresses, and soft, white hands, having to work and even scrub perhaps, and to give up all the things and ways she was used to—it was too dreadful!
Papa looked sorry and went on again quietly—
'No, no, my boy,' he said; 'don't exaggerate it. Of course mamma and you all must have every comfort possible. One servant, anyway—Hoskins is sure to stay, and a younger one as well, I hope. And there must be no thought of your going to sea, George, or going anywhere, till I come back again. I look to you to take care of them all—that is why I am explaining more to you and Ida than many people would to such young ones. But I know you are both very sensible for your age. You see, we are sure of the new rent, thanks to this Mr. Trevor's offer—and even that would prevent us from being in a desperate position. And, of course, the usual money will go on coming in from the property, though the most of it must go in keeping things in order, in case——' but here papa broke off.
'I know what you were going to say, papa,' said poor Dods, growing scarlet; he was certainly very quick-witted,—"in case we have to sell Eastercove!" Oh, papa! anything but that! I'll work—I'll do anything to make money, so long as we don't have to do that. Our old, old home!'
He could not say any more, and turned away his head.
'It has not come to that yet, my boy,' said papa, after a moment or two's silence. 'Let us keep up heart in the meantime, and hope for the best.'
Then he went on to tell us some of the plans he and mamma had already begun to make—about our going to live in some little house at Kirke, where we should not feel so strange as farther away, though there were objections to this too,—anything at all nice in the shape of even a tiny house there would be dear, as the neighbourhood was much sought after by visitors in winter as well as in summer. For it was considered so very healthy for delicate people; the air was always clear and dry, and the scent of the pine woods so strengthening. Papa, however, was doing his best; he and mamma were going there that very afternoon, 'To spy the land,' papa said, trying to speak cheerily.
So now I come back to where I began my explanation as to what the 'it' was, that Geordie and I agreed was so dreadful.
