“May be, uncle—it might be best; but many things must come and go between this time and that.”
“Harry has been speaking to me about a project he has,” said the old man, “about farming and borrowing siller. Has he told you, Martha?”
“Ay, uncle.”
“And you think well of it?”
“An occupation is always good,” said Martha. “I am doubtful and anxious about his plans for getting money, but the work should do him service; and Harry has begun on a great scale here, uncle. It is impossible he can go on so on his present income, and he will rather increase than diminish—he is always so confident. So I should be glad to think he had a chance of improving the property. I thought it a great fortune a month ago. It does not look so inexhaustible now.”
“Well, as the money would come to you at any rate in the ordinary course of nature,” said the old man hesitating; “and as there is aye the land to fall back upon, no to speak of my two hundred pounds, I think I may venture to speak to Miss Jean whenever I get back to Ayr.”
“Miss Jean! Does Harry mean to ask her for the money?” asked Martha.
“What think ye of it? She is far from a likely person, but he means to offer her higher interest, he says, than anybody else. What think ye of it, Martha? for I am only doubtful myself,” said the old man, anxiously.
But Martha only shook her head. “Do it, if Harry asks you, uncle—do it. I have given up advising now. He must be left alone.”
And Harry, to his great wonder, and with a strange mixture of irritation and pleasure, found himself left alone—suffered, without remonstrance or check, to follow entirely the counsel of his own will. Good little Agnes had great trust in what Harry said about economy and prudence, and triumphantly pointed out to Martha those resolutions of sublime virtue with which every piece of practical extravagance was prefaced; and Martha listened with a grave smile, and never suggested doubt to the simple heart, which, for itself, saw the most inexhaustible fortune in those much spoken of “rents,” and never dreaded now the old familiar evils of poverty.