"Is it a good business for him?"
"He has chosen it, — not I."
"I would sooner trust your choice," said the father. "There's one thing Rufus wants; and that is, judgment."
"He'll do yet," said Winthrop. "And I shall not leave you long at the West, father. You will come when I send for you?"
"No, my boy," said the farmer looking gratified; — "I'll live by my own hands as long as I have hands to live by; and as I said, mine haven't given out yet! No — if the Lord prospers us, we'll have a visit from you and Winnie out there, I expect — by and by, when we get things in order; — you and Winnie, and anybody else you've a mind to bring along!"
It was spoken heartily, but with a tear in the eye; and nobody answered; unless it were answer, the long breath which Winnie drew at the very idea of such a visit.
Winthrop heard it; but through the long weeks of summer he could give her nothing more of country refreshment than the old walks on the Green and an occasional ride or walk on the opposite shore of one or the other of the rivers that bordered the city. Business held him fast, with a grip that he must not loosen; though he saw and knew that his little sister's face grew daily more thin and pale, and that her slight frame was slighter and slighter. His arm had less and less to do, even though her need called for more. He felt as if she was slipping away from him. August came.
"Winnie," said he one evening, when he came home and found her lying on her couch as usual, — "how would you like to go up and pay Karen a visit?"
"Karen?" — said Winnie, — "where?"
"At home. — At Wut-a-qut-o."