‘I was wrong, father,’ Bob replied gravely, throwing down his bundle and stick. ‘Matilda, I find, has not gone away in scorn of us; she has gone away for other reasons. I followed her some way; but I have come back again. She may go.’
‘Why is she gone?’ said the astonished miller.
Bob had intended, for Matilda’s sake, to give no reason to a living soul for her departure. But he could not treat his father thus reservedly; and he told.
‘She has made great fools of us,’ said the miller deliberately; ‘and she might have made us greater ones. Bob, I thought th’ hadst more sense.’
‘Well, don’t say anything against her, father,’ implored Bob. ‘’Twas a sorry haul, and there’s an end on’t. Let her down quietly, and keep the secret. You promise that?’
‘I do.’ Loveday the elder remained thinking awhile, and then went on—‘Well, what I was going to say is this: I’ve hit upon a plan to get out of the awkward corner she has put us in. What you’ll think of it I can’t say.’
‘David has just given me the heads.’
‘And do it hurt your feelings, my son, at such a time?’
‘No—I’ll bring myself to bear it, anyhow! Why should I object to other people’s happiness because I have lost my own?’ said Bob, with saintly self-sacrifice in his air.
‘Well said!’ answered the miller heartily. ‘But you may be sure that there will be no unseemly rejoicing, to disturb ye in your present frame of mind. All the morning I felt more ashamed than I cared to own at the thought of how the neighbours, great and small, would laugh at what they would call your folly, when they knew what had happened; so I resolved to take this step to stave it off, if so be ’twas possible. And when I saw Mrs. Garland I knew I had done right. She pitied me so much for having had the house cleaned in vain, and laid in provisions to waste, that it put her into the humour to agree. We mean to do it right off at once, afore the pies and cakes get mouldy and the blackpot stale. ’Twas a good thought of mine and hers, and I am glad ’tis settled,’ he concluded cheerfully.