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He ain't got a answer for 'em; it's cruel to hear, and crueller to think: he's got no answer, poor old farmer! and he's obliged to go inter exile. Farm's up for sale." Anthony thumped with his foot conclusively. "Say I'm not married!" said Dahlia, and a bad colour flushed her countenance. "They say I'm not married. I am I am. It's false.
"You know," said his mother, "that Mr. Rossitur's circumstances obliged him to quit New York." "Ay, but that aint my question. A man had better keep his fingers off anything he can't live by. A farm's one thing or t'other, just as it's worked. The land wont grow specie it must be fetched out of it. Is Mr. Rossitur a smart man?" "Very," Fleda said, "about everything but farming."
"It really isn't what would suit Bob, father," said she. "Besides, if he went into your business, we should have to be so much in town and hardly ever be at home at Mingham." At home at Mingham! What a destiny! Certainly Blent was in the same valley, but Well, a "seat" is one thing, and a farm's another; the world is to blame again, no doubt.
But you've got to keep me, or remember, all your life, how you murdered me by goin' away. The farm's come between us. Le's leave it! It's 'most time for the cars. You take me with you now. If you tramp, I'll tramp. If you work out, so 'll I. But where you go, I've got to go, too." Some understanding of her began to creep upon him; he dropped the child's hand, and came a step nearer.
Also she found more fault with the beauties of Ansdore's best parlour than the rigours of its kitchen; there lay the sting her revolt was not against the toils and austerities of the farm's life but against its glories and comelinesses. She despised Ansdore for its very splendours, just as she despised her sister's best clothes more than her old ones.
"You know," said his mother, "that Mr. Rossitur's circumstances obliged him to quit New York." "Ay, but that ain't my question. A man had better keep his fingers off anything he can't live by. A farm's one thing or t'other, just as it's worked. The land won't grow specie it must be fetched out of it. Is Mr. Rossitur a smart man?" "Very," Fleda said, "about everything but farming."
He would have cried, had his sadness not been so highly overcompensated for by his anger. His first instinct was to run to her and try to fight for her freedom. But he was a wise enough boy to know full well that this would be folly. He was no more than one little boy against a whole farm's worth of strong and muscular laborers.
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