“What is that?” she asked, eagerly.
“Oh! a way?”
“Tell it!” with a near approach to impatience for Mrs. Dobson.
“To have your dream come true, grandma! because, then, you would not need me. I should be in the way here, and I’ve an immense good opinion of myself—I could make myself very useful over at the Point, and save money in a good many ways for Mr. Hallock that Hugo never thinks of.”
“I can get along beautifully without you,” said Mrs. Dobson, after a pause, “that is, until the spring; after you get the crops all in, I mean; and you could come over once in a while by running across your bridge, even if it was cold weather.”
“Now, grandma, you’re making believe you’d get along comfortably without me,” said Harry, reproachfully.
“No, I am not,” she said, trying very hard to steady her voice. “I didn’t say there wouldn’t be very hard days and unpleasant hours. I said I could get along nicely, and so I can, and will, if it seems best.”
“And here we are a-dreaming away, when perhaps I am not wanted at all,” said Harry, “and Primrose is waiting by this time at the bars for me. If Captain Dobson should come before I get through milking, grandma, you swing the strainer—here it is” (catching it from a gooseberry bush by the door and tossing it to her), “white as snow—for I want a chance to run upstairs and put myself in order to do you honor before a visitor.”
“What dreamers we are, to be sure,” sighed Mrs. Dobson, as she watched the lad go his way past the quince trees and through the orchard to the meadow-bars, where Primrose waited.
The sun was just dropping out of sight. She watched it with eyes that grew misty with wistfulness.