“It is Luke’s dog, Rover; he is as sensible as a human being,” observed Molly, and before we commenced tea she fetched him a plate of broken meat from the larder, her hospitality extending even to the dumb creatures.
A wooden screen shut us off from the fire. From my place at the table I had a good view of the inner kitchen and a smaller courtyard with a well in it; a pleasant breeze came through the open door.
As soon as the children were helped, Hannah came back looking rather shamefaced but extremely happy, and followed by Luke Armstrong. He greeted us rather shyly, but seated himself at Molly’s bidding. He was a short, sturdy-looking young fellow, with crisp, curling hair and an honest, good-tempered face. He seemed intelligent and well-mannered, and I was disposed to be pleased with Hannah’s sweetheart.
I found afterwards from Molly when she took me into the dairy that Michael Sowerby had consented to recognise the engagement, and that it was looked upon as a settled thing in the household.
“Hannah is the youngest of us girls, and a bit spoiled,” observed Molly, apologetically. “I told father it was all nonsense, and Hannah was only a chit, but it seemed he had no mind to cross her. The folks at Scroggin’s Mill is not much to our taste, but Luke is the best of the bunch, and a good, steady lad with a head on his shoulders. He was for going to London to seek his fortune,” continued Molly, “for Miller Armstrong is a poor sort of father to him, and Martin elbows him out of all chances of getting any of the money; but Squire Hawtry, of the Red Farm, where Lydia lives as dairymaid, has just lost his head man, and he offered Luke the place. That is what he has been telling Hannah this afternoon in the farmyard; so if Hannah is a good girl, as I tell her, and saves her bit of money, and Luke works his best, Squire Hawtry will be letting them have one of the new cottages he has built for the farm servants, and a year or two may see them settled in it to begin life together.” And here Molly drew a hard work-roughened hand across her eyes as though her own words touched her.
“I am very glad for Hannah’s sake,” I returned. “She is a good girl, and deserves to be happy.”
“Ah, they are all good girls,” replied Molly. “Hannah is no better than the rest, though we have a bit spoiled her, being the youngest, and mother dead. There’s Martin at Scroggin’s Mill wants Lydia, but Lyddy is too sensible to be listening to the likes of him. ‘No, no, Lyddy,’ I say, ‘whatever you do, never marry a man who makes an idol of his money; he will love his guineas more than his wife; better be doing work all your life and die single as I shall, than be mistress of Scroggin’s Mill if Martin is to be master.’”
“You give your sisters very good advice,” I returned.
“I have not much else to give them,” was the abrupt answer; “but they are good girls, and know I mean well. The boys are rather a handful, especially Dan, who is always bird-catching on Sunday, and won’t see the sin of it. But there, one must take boys as one finds them, and not put ourselves in the place of Providence. They want a deal of patience, and patience is not in my nature, and if Dan comes to a bad end with his lame leg and bird-traps, nobody must blame me, who has always a scolding ready for him if he will take it.”
I saw Dan presently under rather disadvantageous circumstances, for as we came out of the dairy who should come riding under the great pear tree but Mr. Hawtry, with a red-headed boy sitting behind him, with a pair of dirty hands grasping his coat. I never saw such a freckled face nor such red hair in my life, and he looked at Molly so roguishly from under Mr. Hawtry’s shoulder, there was no mistaking that this was the family scapegrace.