Late in the afternoon Mr. Brownlow did really look as if he were taking a holiday. He came forth into the avenue as Sara was going out, and joined her, and she seized her opportunity, and took his arm, and led him up and down in the afternoon sunshine. It is a pretty sight to see a girl clinging to her father, pouring all her guesses and philosophies into his ears, and claiming his confidence. It is a different kind of intercourse, more picturesque, more amusing, in some ways even more touching, than the intercourse of a mother and daughter, especially when there is, as with these two, no mother in the case, and the one sole parent has both offices to fulfill. Sara clung to her father’s arm, and congratulated herself upon having got him out, and promised herself a good long talk. “For I never see you, papa,” she said; “you know I never see you. You are at that horrid office the whole long day.”
“Only all the mornings and all the evenings,” said Mr. Brownlow, “which is a pretty good proportion, I think, of life.”
“Oh, but there is always Jack or somebody,” said Sara, tightening her clasp on his arm; “and sometimes one wants only you.”
“Have you something to say to me then,” said her father, with a little curiosity, even anxiety,—for of course his own disturbed thoughts accompanied him everywhere, and put meanings into every word that was said.
“Something!” said Sara, with indignation; “heaps of things. I want to tell you and I want to ask you;—but, by-the-by, answer me first, before I forget, is this Mr. Powys very poor?”
“Powys!” said Mr. Brownlow, with a suppressed thrill of excitement. “What of Powys? It seems to me I hear of nothing else. Where has the young fellow gone?”
“I did not do any thing to him,” said Sara, turning her large eyes full of mock reproach upon her father’s face. “You need not ask him from me in that way. I suppose he has gone home—to his mother and his little sisters,” she added, dropping her voice.
“And what do you know about his mother and his little sisters?” said Mr. Brownlow, startled yet amused by her tone.
“Well, he told me he had such people belonging to him, papa,” said Sara; “and he gave me a very grand description before that of what it is to be poor. I want to know if he is very poor? and could I send any thing to them, or do any thing? or are they too grand for that? or couldn’t you raise his salary or something? You ought to do something, since he is a favorite of your own.”
“Did he complain to you?” said Mr. Brownlow, in consternation; “and I trust in goodness, Sara, you did not propose to do any thing for them as you say?”