Part 19 (2/2)
he's not of the sort to die early! This is what comes of letting young people have their own way! My brother will be wiser now! and so, I hope, will Walter! It shall not be my fault if he's not made to understand!
Old or young wouldn't listen to me! Now perhaps, while they are smarting from the rod, it may be of use to speak!”
”Aunt,” said Molly, with her heart in her throat, but determined, ”please do not say anything to him for a long time yet; you might make him ill again! You do not know how he hates being talked at!”
”Don't you be afraid! I won't talk _at_ him! He shall be well talked _to_, and straight!”
”He won't stand it any more, auntie! He's a man now, you know! And when a mere boy, he used to complain that you were always finding fault with him!”
”Highty, tighty! What next! The gentleman has the choice, has he, when to be found fault with, and when not!”
”I give you fair warning,” said Molly, hurriedly, ”that I will do what I can to prevent you!”
Aunt Ann was indignant.
”You dare to tell me, in my own”--she was going to say _house_, but corrected herself--”in my own home, where you live on the charity of--”
Molly interrupted her.
”I shall ask my father,” she said, ”whether he wishes me to have such words from you. If he does, you shall say what you please to me. But as to Walter, I will ask n.o.body. Till he is able to take care of himself, I shall not let you plague him. I will fight you first! There now!”
The flas.h.i.+ng eyes and determined mouth of Molly, who had risen, and stood regarding her aunt in a flame of honest anger, cowed her. She shut her jaws close, and looked the picture of postponement.
That instant came the voice of Mr. Colman:
”Molly! Molly!”
”Yes, Richard!” answered Miss Hanc.o.c.k, rising.
But Molly was out of the door, almost before her aunt was out of her chair.
Walter had asked where she was, and wanted to see her. It was the first wish of any sort he had expressed!
CHAPTER XXIX.
DREAM-MOLLY.
So far better as to be able to talk, Walter one day told Molly the strange dream which, as he looked back, seemed to fill the whole time almost from his leaving his lodging to his recognition of his father by his bedside.
It was a sweet day in the first of the spring. He lay with his head toward the window, and the sun s.h.i.+ning into the room, with the tearful radiance of sorrows overlived and winter gone, when Molly entered. She was at once whelmed in the sunlight, so that she could see nothing, while Walter could almost have counted her eyelashes.
”Stand there, Molly,” he cried, ”one moment! I want to look at you!”
”It is not fair!” returned Molly. ”The sun is in my eyes! I am as blind as a bat!”
”I won't ask you, if you mind, Molly!” returned Walter.
In these days he had grown very gentle. He seemed to dread the least appearance of exaction.
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