"But the girl,—why did not he bring her here?"
"She is still in France, but he talks of going over for her; and we have half promised to visit them both in Cumberland.—But, bless me! is that twelve? and the posset quite cold!"
"One word more, dearest mother—one word. My father's book—is he still going on with it?"
"Oh yes, indeed!" cried my mother, clasping her hands; "and he must read it to you, as he does to me—you will understand it so well. I have always been so anxious that the world should know him, and be proud of him as we are,—so—so anxious!—for perhaps, Sisty, if he had married that great lady, he would have roused himself, been more ambitious—and I could only make him happy, I could not make him great!"
"So he has listened to you at last?"
"To me!" said my mother, shaking her head and smiling gently: "No, rather to your Uncle Jack,—who, I am happy to say, has at length got a proper hold over him."
"A proper hold, my dear mother! Pray beware of Uncle Jack, or we shall be all swept into a coal-mine, or explode with a grand national company for making gunpowder out of tea-leaves!"
"Wicked child!" said my mother laughing; and then, as she took up her candle and lingered a moment while I wound my watch, she said musingly,—"Yet Jack is very, very clever,—and if for your sake we could make a fortune, Sisty!"
"You frighten me out of my wits, mother! You are not in earnest?"
"And if my brother could be the means of raising him in the world"—