"Don't, don't, Miss Queenie; I cannot bear you to say such things."
"But I will say them, I must say them, when you call me proud and self-willed; I must defend myself, and get the last word; I am only a woman, you know."
"God bless such women, I say."
"You have the spirit of a little child, Caleb; so doubtless you will be heard. Blessings are long in coming to us I think, and I am growing hard and discontented in consequence; but you and Cathy have often saved me from hopeless infidelity."
"Good heavens! what do you mean?"
"Yes, from infidelity—that utter and hopeless disbelief in one's fellow-creatures. When I find myself growing cynical, I just say, 'There are Caleb and Cathy, the world cannot be wholly bad with two such good creatures in it,' and that thought rests me."
"Aye, aye, it is too old a head on young shoulders; people don't often think and say such things. You are rarely clever for your age, Miss Queenie."
"One can think without being clever," returned the girl, with a slight smile. "Cathy and I have strange talks sometimes; we often bewilder and lose ourselves. I have no one as Cathy has to set me right. It must be very nice to have a brother."
"Aye, I had a brother once," returned Caleb, dreamily; "he was deformed, poor fellow, a hunch-back; but every one liked Joe. I was only a little chap when he died, but I have never forgotten him yet; some of his sharp sayings come into my mind when I sit here smoking my pipe."
"A strong, wise, elder brother,—some one to trust,—and who would care for me," continued Queenie, reflectively. "I think Cathy must be a happy girl. Hark! that is nine striking; I must go and find Emmie."