“One wouldn’t suppose that they were a common family possession,” I said with what I felt to be rather fine sarcasm.
“Now don’t be cross, Bathsheba,” she said coaxingly. “I know he has, in one way; he has become so softened, he is positively a dear lately—but Cyrus and a girl!—you know one can’t help laughing! And for Alice Yorke one would think of some one more—well, more polished, some one like Mr. Carruthers.” And she colored as she said it to the very roots of her hair—though why she should I couldn’t in the least understand.
“I wasn’t thinking of Cyrus in connection with any girl,” I said with dignity. “In fact I know of none worthy to be mentioned in the same day with him! I was thinking of the business troubles that are weighing so heavily upon him—of the pitiful thing it is that he should have given up the life-work to which he felt that he was called only to fail after all.”
“He can be a minister now; he was never so fit for it as he is now!” said Estelle. “But is it so bad about the business?”
We had reached the top of the orchard slope and she turned and looked back at the shipyard.
“There is a great deal of Dave,” she observed sadly.
“Not enough to do what Cyrus and Uncle Horace couldn’t do, even if there were time—if he had any chance,” I answered.
“Poor Dave!” murmured Estelle, “if he only had a chance! Or even if Rob wouldn’t hang on to him so!”
“Your apple-bank money paid the horse’s board!” I said.
“I didn’t know what Dave was going to do with it. I found out that he wanted money, so I gave it to him,” she said simply.