“It seems likely that it will be Dave who will be the minister!” said Octavia, who permitted herself to be sarcastic upon occasion. It had cut her dreadfully that Dave had been expelled from school for mischief.
“No one can tell when a boy is ten, what he may become,” I said with indignation. But my heart was heavy. I was driving Octavia to school and it was a dreary morning. Old Abigail’s white shape loomed ghostly through a heavy fog. Octavia’s long thin face looked white and melancholy, under the limp roses on her hat. There is nothing like a fog to make you feel your troubles and show them, too, and we have the heaviest of fogs on our river.
But I added, more lightly than I felt: “A little mischief like Dave’s doesn’t count.”
“It’s the alien blood I’m afraid of,” Octavia responded. “His father was so—so different from us. And he hasn’t that sense of responsibility that Cyrus had, even at his age. As for Rob, I’m afraid his asthmatic tendency will always make him delicate. Of course we have always thought Cyrus the hope of the family. And we have always known that the children would be a trouble—but to ruin ourselves for them, like this——!”
Octavia was growing vehement—we are all a little inclined to be that at times—but my attention was diverted from her by a sudden little jerking of the wagon from behind. It was the canopied beach wagon. Estelle liked to sit in the back with her long legs dangling out. Octavia had decreed that she should not drive as far as her schoolhouse with us unless she would sit properly upon the seat. I saw the small graceful figure spring out at the turn of the road. It did not run, and no gleeful laugh of defiance came back to us. It was a limp and dejected little figure that pulled its hat over its eyes as it walked.
“That child again,” said Octavia, following my gaze with an annoyed expression. “She never pays the least attention to what is said to her! Some day she will get hurt, jumping out in that way. And how it looks!”
“But Octavia, she must have heard,” I exclaimed in dismay.
“Heard what?” said Octavia, who, although she was a teacher, had no perception of the acuteness of children, at least of this child.
“About alien blood, and—Dave. That they were a trouble, and that we were ruining ourselves for them!” I replied with some irritation.
“She wouldn’t understand if she did hear,” said Octavia easily. “You exaggerate those children’s intelligence, Bathsheba. If she had understood I should almost think it would be a good thing for her. She really ought to have a little realizing sense of what is being done for her! I was a responsible human being when I was nine. Even you were more sensible than she is.”