“Well, then, you must just lose your appetites, for I won’t tell you,” said Mr Merryboy firmly. “It will do you good—eh! mother, won’t a touch of starvation improve them, bring back the memory of old times—eh?”
The old lady, observing that her son was addressing her, shot forth such a beam of intelligence and goodwill that it was as though a gleam of sunshine had burst into the room.
“I knew you’d agree with me—ha! ha! you always do, mother,” cried the farmer, flinging his handkerchief at a small kitten which was sporting on the floor and went into fits of delight at the attention.
After dinner the young men were about to return to their saw-mill when Mr Merryboy called them back.
“What would you say, boys, to hear that Sir Richard Brandon, with a troop of emigrants, is going to settle somewhere in Canada?”
“I would think he’d gone mad, sir, or changed his nature,” responded Bob.
“Well, as to whether he’s gone mad or not I can’t tell—he may have changed his nature, who knows? That’s not beyond the bounds of possibility. Anyway, he is coming. I’ve got a letter from a friend of mine in London who says he read it in the papers. But perhaps you may learn more about it in that.”
He tossed a letter to Bob, who eagerly seized it.
“From sister Hetty,” he cried, and tore it open.
The complete unity and unanimity of this family was well illustrated by the fact, that Bob began to read the letter aloud without asking leave and without apology.