Probably owing to the affair of the specimens, the elder Sharpe did not seem to regard the possible mesalliance of Richelieu with extraordinary disfavor."That boy is conceited enough with hair ile and fine clothes for anything," he said plaintively."But didn't that Louise Macy hev a feller already--that Captain Greyson?
Wot's gone o' him?"
"That's it," said Minty: "he kin go out in the woods and whistle now.But all the same, she could hitch him in again at any time if the other stranger kicked over the traces.That's the style over there at The Lookout.There ain't ez much heart in them two women put together ez would make a green gal flush up playin' forfeits.
It's all in their breed, Pop.Love ain't going to spile their appetites and complexions, give 'em nose-bleed, nor put a drop o'water into their eyes in all their natural born days.That's wot makes me mad.Ef I thought that Loo cared a bit for that child I
wouldn't mind; I'd just advise her to make him get up and get--pack his duds out o' camp, and go home and not come back until he had a written permit from his mother, or the other baronet in office."
"Looks sorter ef some one orter interfere," said the blacksmith,reflectively."'Tain't exackly a case for a vigilance committee,tho' it's agin public morals, this sorter kidnappin' o' strangers.
Looks ez if it might bring the country into discredit in England."
"Well, don't YOU go and interfere and havin' folks say ez my nose was put out o' jint over there," said Minty, curtly."There's another Englishman comin' up from 'Frisco to see him to-morrow.Ef he ain't scooped up by Jenny Bradley he'll guess there's a nigger in the fence somewhere.But there, Pop, let it drop.It's a bad aig, anyway," she concluded, rising from the table, and passing her hands down her frock and her shapely hips, as if to wipe off further contamination of the subject."Where's Richelieu agin?"
"Said he didn't want supper, and like ez not he's gone over to see that fammerly at the Summit.There's a little girl thar he's sparkin', about his own age."
"His own age!" said Minty, indignantly."Why, she's double that,if she's a day.Well--if he ain't the triflinest, conceitednest little limb that ever grew!I'd like to know where he got it from--it wasn't mar's style."
Mr. Sharpe smiled darkly.Richelieu's precocious gallantry evidently was not considered as gratuitous as his experimental metallurgy.But as his eyes followed his daughter's wholesome,Phyllis-like figure, a new idea took possession of him: needless to say, however, it was in the line of another personal aggrievement,albeit it took the form of religious reflection.
"It's curous, Minty, wot's foreordained, and wot ain't.Now, yer's one of them high and mighty fellows, after the Lord, ez comes meanderin' around here, and drops off--ez fur ez I kin hear--in a kind o' faint at the first house he kems to, and is taken in and lodged and sumptuously fed; and, nat'rally, they gets their reward for it.Now wot's to hev kept that young feller from coming HERE and droppin' down in my forge, or in this very room, and YOU a tendin' him, and jist layin' over them folks at The Lookout?"
"Wot's got hold o' ye, Pop?Don't I tell ye he had a letter to Jim Bradley?" said Minty, quickly, with an angry flash of color in her cheek.
"That ain't it," said Sharpe confidently; "it's cos he WALKED.
Nat'rally, you'd think he'd RIDE, being high and mighty, and that's where, ez the parson will tell ye, wot's merely fi-nite and human wisdom errs!Ef that feller had ridden, he'd have had to come by this yer road, and by this yer forge, and stop a spell like any other.But it was foreordained that he should walk, jest cos it wasn't generally kalkilated and reckoned on.So, YOU had no show."
For a moment, Minty seemed struck with her father's original theory.But with a vigorous shake of her shoulders she threw it off.Her eyes darkened.
"I reckon you ain't thinking, Pop--" she began.
"I was only sayin' it was curous," be rejoined quietly.
Nevertheless, after a pause, he rose, coughed, and going up to the young girl, as she leaned over the dresser, bent his powerful arm around her, and, drawing her and the plate she was holding against his breast, laid his bearded cheek for an instant softly upon her rebellious head."It's all right, Minty," he said; "ain't it,pet?"Minty's eyelids closed gently under the familiar pressure.
"Wot's that in your hair, Minty?" he said tactfully, breaking an embarrassing pause.
"Bar's grease, father," murmured Minty, in a child's voice--the grown-up woman, under that magic touch, having lapsed again into her father's motherless charge of ten years before.
"It's pow'ful soothin', and pretty," said her father.
"I made it myself--do you want some?" asked Minty.
"Not now, girl!"For a moment they slightly rocked each other in that attitude--the man dexterously, the woman with infinite tenderness--and then they separated.