"But you are weary," said Hugh, affectionately. "I see it in your face."
"Not so much body as mind, after all. Oh, Hugh! this is the worst part of being poor the constant occupation of one's mind on a miserable succession of trifles. I am so weary sometimes! If I only had a nice book to rest myself for a while, and forget all these things, I would give so much for it! "
"Dear Fleda, I wish you had!"
"That was one delight of being in New York; I forgot all about money, from one end of it to the other; I put all that away; and not having to think of meals till I came to eat them. You can't think how tired I get of ringing the changes on pork and flour, and Indian meal, and eggs, and vegetables!"
Fleda looked tired, and pale; and Hugh looked sadly conscious of it.
"Don't tell aunt Lucy I have said all this!" she exclaimed, after a moment, rousing herself; "I don't always feel so; only once in a while I get such a fit. And now, I have just troubled you by speaking of it."
"You don't trouble any one in that way very often, dear
Fleda," said Hugh, kissing her.
"I ought not at all you have enough else to think of; but it is a kind of relief sometimes. I like to do these things in general only now and then I get tired, as I was just now, I suppose, and then one sees everything through a different medium."
"I am afraid it would tire you more to have the charge of Earl Douglass and the farm upon your mind; and mother could be no help to you, nor I, if I am at the mill."
"But there's Seth Plumfield. Oh, I've thought of it all. You don't know what I am up to, Mr. Rossitur. You shall see how I will manage unless uncle Rolf comes home, in which case I will very gladly forego all my honours and responsibilities together."