Part 16 (1/2)

”That is what I am complaining of, Robina. We are always hoping that ours won't be. She is full of faults, Veronica, and they are not always nice faults. She is lazy-lazy is not the word for it.”

”She is lazy,” Robina was compelled to admit.

”There are other faults she might have had and welcome,” I pointed out; ”faults I could have taken an interest in and liked her all the better for. You children are so obstinate. You will choose your own faults.

Veronica is not truthful always. I wanted a family of little George Was.h.i.+ngtons, who could not tell a lie. Veronica can. To get herself out of trouble-and provided there is any hope of anybody believing her-she does.”

”We all of us used to when we were young,” Robina maintained; ”d.i.c.k used to, I used to. It is a common fault with children.”

”I know it is,” I answered. ”I did not want a child with common faults.

I wanted something all my own. I wanted you, Robina, to be my ideal daughter. I had a girl in my mind that I am sure would have been charming. You are not a bit like her. I don't say she was perfect, she had her failings, but they were such delightful failings-much better than yours, Robina. She had a temper-a woman without a temper is insipid; but it was that kind of temper that made you love her all the more. Yours doesn't, Robina. I wish you had not been in such a hurry, and had left me to arrange your temper for you. We should all of us have preferred mine. It had all the attractions of temper without the drawbacks of the ordinary temper.”

”Couldn't use it up, I suppose, for yourself, Pa?” suggested Robina.

”It was a lady's temper,” I explained. ”Besides,” as I asked her, ”what is wrong with the one I have?”

”Nothing,” answered Robina. Yet her tone conveyed doubt. ”It seems to me sometimes that an older temper would suit you better, that was all.”

”You have hinted as much before, Robina,” I remarked, ”not only with reference to my temper, but with reference to things generally. One would think that you were dissatisfied with me because I am too young.”

”Not in years perhaps,” replied Robina, ”but-well, you know what I mean.

One wants one's father to be always great and dignified.”

”We cannot change our ego,” I explained to her. ”Some daughters would appreciate a father youthful enough in temperament to sympathise with and to indulge them. The solemn old fogey you have in your mind would have brought you up very differently. Let me tell you that, my girl. You would not have liked him, if you had had him.”

”Perhaps not,” Robina agreed. ”You are awfully good in some ways.”

”What we have got to do in this world, Robina,” I said, ”is to take people as they are, and make the best of them. We cannot expect everybody to be just as we would have them, and maybe we should not like them any better if they were. Don't bother yourself about how much nicer they might be; think how nice they are.”

Robina said she would try. I have hopes of making Robina a sensible woman.

CHAPTER VII

d.i.c.k and Veronica returned laden with parcels. They explained that ”Daddy Slee,” as it appeared he was generally called, a local builder of renown, was following in his pony-cart, and was kindly bringing the bulkier things with him.

”I tried to hustle him,” said d.i.c.k, ”but coming up after he had washed himself and had his tea seemed to be his idea of hustling. He has got the reputation of being an honest old Johnny, slow but sure; the others, they tell me, are slower. I thought you might care, later on, to talk to him about the house.”

Veronica took off her things and put them away, each one in its proper place. She said, if no one wanted her, she would read a chapter of ”The Vicar of Wakefield,” and retired upstairs. Robina and I had an egg with our tea; Mr. Slee arrived as we had finished, and I took him straight into the kitchen. He was a large man, with a dreamy expression and a habit of sighing. He sighed when he saw our kitchen.

”There's four days' work for three men here,” he said, ”and you'll want a new stove. Lord! what trouble children can be!”

Robina agreed with him.

”Meanwhile,” she demanded, ”how am I to cook?”

”Myself, missie,” sighed Mr. Slee, ”I don't see how you are going to cook.”

”We'll all have to tramp home again,” thought d.i.c.k.

”And tell Little Mother the reason, and frighten her out of her life!”