"Oh!" said Miss Essie. "What has become of their wills? Have you stolen them? Now I am going to put that to the proof. Sam Stoutenburgh—you are not twenty years old yet, your mother says; have you a will of your own?"
"Mother says I have," replied Sam.
"Ah!—you see!" said Miss Essie. "You sir,—I know you but I don't remember you,—your teacher says you haven't a will of your own—now is it true? I want to know."
"A will of my own, ma'am?" Reuben repeated, looking doubtfully from
Miss Essie to Mr. Linden. "Against whose, if you please?"
"Well—" said Miss Essie, a little surprised, and laughing—"upon honour, will you tell the truth?"
"I'll try, ma'am."
"Against Mr. Linden's. Now upon honour!—I'll go bail for you."
The bail was not needed. Reuben's quiet "No, ma'am, and don't want to have," was very forcible.
"I declare!" said Miss Essie turning to Mr. Linden,—"you're a wonderful man!—For of course Sam's word is his mother's word, and that's nothing in the circumstances. I wish I had been so happy as to be a boy and go to school to you, Mr. Linden! All my life my trouble has been a will of my own; and I never found anybody that could deprive me of it."
"Nor yourself ready to give it up?"