"I wish father would give up the farm," Hugh went on, under his breath. "I cannot bear to live upon uncle Orrin so."
Fleda's answer was to clasp her hands. Her only words were,
"Don't say anything to aunt Lucy."
"It is of no use to say anything to anybody," said Hugh. "But it weighs me to the ground, Fleda."
"If uncle Rolf doesn't come home by spring I hope, I hope he will! but if he does not, I will take desperate measures. I will try farming myself, Hugh. I have thought of it, and I certainly will. I will get Earl Douglass, or somebody else, to play second fiddle, but I will have but one head on the farm, and I will try what mine is worth."
"You could not do it, Fleda."
"One can do anything! with a strong enough motive."
"I'm afraid you'd soon be tired, Fleda."
"Not if I succeeded not so tired as I am now."
"Poor Fleda! I dare say you are tired!"
"It wasn't that I meant," said Fleda, slightly drawing her breath; "I meant this feeling of everything going wrong, and uncle Orrin, and all."