what I shall find money for any longer. There’s my grandfather had his stables full o’ horses, and kept a good house too, and in worse times, by what I can make out; and so might I, if I hadn’t four good-for- nothing fellows to hang on me like horse-leeches. I’ve been too good a father to you all—that’s what it is. But I shall pull up, sir.”

Godfrey was silent. He was not likely to be very penetrating in his judgments, but he had always had a sense that his father’s indulgence had not been kindness, and had had a vague longing for some discipline that would have checked his own errant weakness and helped his better will. The Squire ate his bread and meat hastily, took a deep draught of ale, then turned his chair from the table, and began to speak again.

“It’ll be all the worse for you, you know; you’d need try and help me keep things together.”

“Well, sir, I’ve often offered to take the management of things; but you know you’ve taken it ill always, and seemed to think I wanted to push you out of your place.”

“I know nothing o’ your offering or o’ my taking it ill,” said the Squire, whose memory consisted in certain strong impressions unmodified by detail; “but I know one while you seemed to be thinking o’ marrying, and I didn’t offer to put any obstacles in your way, as some fathers would. I’d as lieve you married Lammeter’s daughter as anybody. I suppose if I’d said you nay you’d ha’ kept on with it; but for want o’ contradiction you’ve changed your mind. You’re a shilly-shally fellow: you take after your poor mother. She never had a will of her own; a woman has no call for one, if she’s got a proper man for her husband. But your wife had need have one, for you hardly know your own mind enough to make both your legs walk one way. The lass hasn’t said downright she won’t have you, has she?”

“No,” said Godfrey, feeling very hot and uncomfortable; “but I don’t think she will.”

“Think! Why haven’t you the courage to ask her? Do you stick to it, you want to have her—that’s the thing?”

“There’s no other woman I want to marry,” said Godfrey evasively.

“Well, then, let me make the offer for you, that’s all, if you haven’t the pluck to do it yourself. Lammeter isn’t likely to be loath for his daughter to marry into my family, I should think. And as for the pretty lass, she wouldn’t have her cousin; and there’s nobody else as I see could ha’ stood in your way.”

“I’d rather let it be, please sir, at present,” said Godfrey, in alarm. “I think she’s a little offended with me just now, and I should like to speak for myself. A man must manage these things for himself.”

“Well, speak, then, and manage it, and see if you can’t turn over a new leaf. That’s what a man must do when he thinks o’ marrying.”

“I don’t see how I can think of it at present, sir. You wouldn’t like to settle me on one of the farms, I suppose, and I don’t think she’d come to live in this house with all my brothers. It’s a different sort of life to what she’s been used to.”

“Not come to live in this house? Don’t tell me. You ask her, that’s all,” said the Squire, with a short, scornful laugh.

“I’d rather let the thing be at present, sir,” said Godfrey. “I hope you won’t try to hurry it on by saying anything.”

“I shall do what I choose,” said the Squire, “and I shall let you know I’m master; else you may turn out, and find an estate to drop into somewhere else. Go out and tell Winthrop not to go to Cox’s, but wait for me. And tell ’em to get my horse saddled. And stop: look out and get that hack o’ Dunsey’s sold, and hand me the money, will you? He’ll keep no more hacks at my expense. And if you know where he’s