The young man first discussed with the elder his plans for the
attainment of his position as a farmer on an extensive scale--either
in England or in the Colonies. His father then told him that, as he
had not been put to the expense of sending Angel up to Cambridge, he
had felt it his duty to set by a sum of money every year towards the
purchase or lease of land for him some day, that he might not feel
himself unduly slighted. "As far as worldly wealth goes," continued his father, "you will no
doubt stand far superior to your brothers in a few years."
This considerateness on old Mr Clare's part led Angel onward to the
other and dearer subject. He observed to his father that he was
then six-and-twenty, and that when he should start in the farming
business he would require eyes in the back of his head to see to all
matters--some one would be necessary to superintend the domestic
labours of his establishment whilst he was afield. Would it not be
well, therefore, for him to marry? His father seemed to think this idea not unreasonable; and then Angel
put the question-"What kind of wife do you think would be best for me as a thrifty
hard-working farmer?"
"A truly Christian woman, who will be a help and a comfort to you in
your goings-out and your comings-in. Beyond that, it really matters
little. Such an one can be found; indeed, my earnest-minded friend
and neighbour, Dr Chant--"
"But ought she not primarily to be able to milk cows, churn good
butter, make immense cheeses; know how to sit hens and turkeys and
rear chickens, to direct a field of labourers in an emergency, and
estimate the value of sheep and calves?"
"Yes; a farmer's wife; yes, certainly. It would be desirable." Mr
Clare, the elder, had plainly never thought of these points before.
"I was going to add," he said, "that for a pure and saintly woman you
will not find one more to your true advantage, and certainly not more
to your mother's mind and my own, than your friend Mercy, whom you
used to show a certain interest in. It is true that my neighbour
Chant's daughter had lately caught up the fashion of the younger
clergy round about us for decorating the Communion-table--altar, as I
was shocked to hear her call it one day--with flowers and other stuff
on festival occasions. But her father, who is quite as opposed to
such flummery as I, says that can be cured. It is a mere girlish
outbreak which, I am sure, will not be permanent."