Mr. Haye came the latter part of September to fetch his daughter and his charge home; and spent a day or two in going over the farm and making himself acquainted with the river. He was a handsome man, and very comfortable in face and figure. The wave of prosperity had risen up to his very lips, and its ripples were forever breaking there in a succession of easy smiles. He made himself readily at home in the family; with a well-mannered sort of good-humour, which seemed to belong to his fine broadcloth and beautifully plaited ruffles. Mr. Landholm was not the only one who enjoyed his company. Between him and Rufus and Miss Cadwallader and Mr. Haye, the round game of society was kept up with great spirit.
One morning Mr. Haye was resting himself with a book in his daughter's room; he had had a long tramp with the farmer. Rose went out in search of something more amusing. Elizabeth sat over her book for awhile, then looked up.
"Father," she said, "I wish you could do something to help that young man."
"What young man?"
"Winthrop Landholm."
"What does he want help for?"
"He is trying to get an education — trying hard, I fancy," said Elizabeth, putting down her book and looking at her father, — "he wants to make himself something more than a farmer."
"Why should he want to make himself anything more than a farmer?" said Mr. Haye without looking off his book.
"Why would you, sir?"
"I would just as lief be a farmer as anything else," said Mr. Haye, "if I had happened to be born in that line. It's as good a way of life as any other."