: Miser Farebrother: A Novel (vol. 2 of 3) by Farjeon B L Benjamin Leopold - Fiction

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oftener. One's flesh and blood--we are almost that, are we not, sister-in-law?--should not desert one as you have deserted me."

"Indeed! indeed!" stammered Aunt Leth, somewhat confounded by this reproach.

"Never mind, never mind," said Miser Farebrother, with a gentle air of resignation. "We must say nothing but kind things to one another. If you have deserted me, you have not deserted my dear child, who is always full of praises of you."

"We love her," said Aunt Leth, "as well as we love our own."

"It is very good of you. Is that your husband? My eyesight is shockingly weak. I'm breaking fast, I'm afraid."

Mr. Lethbridge came forward, and Miser Farebrother seized his hand and gave it a cordial grasp. The kind-hearted man could find nothing better to say than,

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Farebrother."

"Not so glad to see me as I am to see you. It is quite like old times--quite like old times. How is the world using you? But I need not ask; I can see for myself. I am very pleased--very--very! You deserve it. I wish the world used me as well; but we can't all be so fortunate. When I was a young man, I used to hope that when I was as old as I am now I should be able to keep a carriage. Young hopes, brother-in-law--eh? Seldom realized, are they? I can hardly afford to keep a--a wheelbarrow--eh, Jeremiah?"

"Yes, sir," said Jeremiah, obsequiously.

"We can't have all we wish," pursued Miser Farebrother; and Jeremiah, although he was impatient to go in search of Phoebe, whom he now looked upon as his property, could not help taking interest and pleasure in his master's gentle and philosophic departure, which he, better than any one of the other listeners, could appreciate at its true value. "In a hundred years to come, a carriage and a wheelbarrow will be all the same to us. Still, I am glad to hear of your good fortune." "How well and hale you look! Not a day older--not a day. You must tell me the secret; though I fear it is too late for me. And this young gentleman"--turning to Bob, who became suddenly very hot and uncomfortable--"your son, eh?--your bright boy?"

"Yes," said Mr. Lethbridge; "our son Robert."

"Extremely well, sir, thank you," Bob blurted out, without in the least knowing what he was saying; for, instead of the world using him extremely well, it was not using him at all.

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