should she not talk about lovers, though? The next time I see her
I will bring up the subject."

"You shall think and talk of your lessons, and nothing more, I charge
you. Go on, Nell," he said, in a loud voice, turning into the yard
and grazing one of the gate-posts, so that we struck together. I was
vexed, thinking it was done purposely, and brushed my shoulder where
he came in contact, as if dust had fallen on me, and jumped out
without looking at him, and ran into the house.

"Are you losing your skill in driving, Charles?" Alice asked, when we
were at tea, "or is Nell too much for you? I saw you crash against the
gate-post."

"Did you? My hand was not steady, and we made a lurch."

"Was there a fight at the mills last night? Jesse said so."

"Jesse must mind his business."

"He told Phoebe about it."

"I knocked one of the clerks over and sprained my wrist."

I met his eye then. "It was your right hand?" I asked.

"It was my right hand," in a deferential tone, and with a slight bow
in my direction.

"Was it Parker?" she asked.

"Yes, he is a puppy; but don't talk about it."

Nothing more was said, even by Edward, who observed his father with
childish gravity, I meditated on the injustice I had done him about
the gate-post. After tea he busied himself in the garden among the
flowers which were still remaining. I lingered in the parlor or walked
the piazza with an undefined desire of speaking to him before I should
go to my room. After he had finished his garden work he went to the
stable; I heard the horses stepping about the floor as they were
taken out for his inspection. The lamps were lighted before he came in
again; Alice was upstairs as usual. When I heard him coming, I opened
my book, and seated myself in a corner of a sofa; he walked to the
window without noticing me, and drummed on the piano.

"Does your wrist pain you, Charles?" still reading.

"A trifle," adjusting his wristband.

"Do you often knock men down in your employ?"

"When they deserve it."

"It is a generous and manly sort of pastime."

"I am a generous man and very strong; do you know that, you little
fool? Here, will you take this flower? There will be no more this
year." I took it from his hand; it was a pink, faintly odorous
blossom.

"I love these fragile flowers best," he continued--"where I have to
protect them from my own touch, even." He relapsed into forgetfulness
for a moment, and then began to study his memo