Mary felt uncomfortable, but, determined to take the matter lightly,
answered at once, "I have said so many impertinent things to Fred--we
are such old playfellows."
"You said, according to him, that he would be one of those ridiculous
clergymen who help to make the whole clergy ridiculous. Really, that
was so cutting that I felt a little cut myself."
Caleb laughed. "She gets her tongue from you, Susan," he said, with
some enjoyment.
"Not its flippancy, father," said Mary, quickly, fearing that her
mother would be displeased. "It is rather too bad of Fred to repeat my
flippant speeches to Mr. Farebrother."
"It was certainly a hasty speech, my dear," said Mrs. Garth, with whom
speaking evil of dignities was a high misdemeanor. "We should not
value our Vicar the less because there was a ridiculous curate in the
next parish."
"There's something in what she says, though," said Caleb, not disposed
to have Mary's sharpness undervalued. "A bad workman of any sort makes
his fellows mistrusted. Things hang together," he added, looking on
the floor and moving his feet uneasily with a sense that words were
scantier than thoughts.
"Clearly," said the Vicar, amused. "By being contemptible we set men's
minds, to the tune of contempt. I certainly agree with Miss Garth's
view of the matter, whether I am condemned by it or not. But as to
Fred Vincy, it is only fair he should be excused a little: old
Featherstone's delusive behavior did help to spoil him. There was
something quite diabolical in not leaving him a farthing after all.
But Fred has the good taste not to dwell on that. And what he cares
most about is having offended you, Mrs. Garth; he supposes you will
never think well of him again."
"I have been disappointed in Fred," said Mrs. Garth, with decision.
"But I shall be ready to think well of him again when he gives me good
reason to do so."
At this point Mary went out of the room, taking Letty with her.
"Oh, we must forgive young people when they're sorry," said Caleb,
watching Mary close the door. "And as you say, Mr. Farebrother, there
was the very devil in that old man. Now Mary's gone out, I must tell you
a thing--it's only known to Susan and me, and you'll not tell it again.
The old scoundrel wanted Mary to burn one of the wills the very night
he died, when she was sitting up with him by herself, and he offered her
a sum of money that he had in the box by him if she would do it. But Mary,
you understand, could do no such thing--would not be handling his iron
chest, and so on. Now, you see, the will he wanted burnt was this last,
so that if Mary had done what he wanted, Fred Vincy would have had ten
thousand pounds. The old man did turn to him at the last. That touches
poor Mary close; she couldn't help it--she was in the right to do what
she did, but she feels, as she says, much as if she had knocked down
somebody's property and broken it against her will, when she was
rightfully defending herself. I feel with her, somehow, and if I could
make any amends to the poor lad, instead of bearing him a grudge for
the harm he did us, I should be glad to do it. Now, what is your opinion,
sir? Susan doesn't agree with me. She says--tell what you say, Susan."