“Then I like her.”

“Why 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 memorandum book.

“A note from the mills, sir,” said Jesse, “by one of the hands.”

“Tell him to wait.”

He read it, and threw it over to me.  It was from Parker, who informed Mr. Morgeson that he was going by the morning’s train to Boston, thinking it was time for him to leave his employ; that, though the fault was his own in the difficulty of the day before, a Yankee could not stand a knock-down.  It was too damned aristocratic for an employer to have that privilege; our institutions did not permit it.  He thanked Mr. Morgeson for his liberality; he couldn’t thank him for being a good fellow.  “And would he oblige him by sending per bearer the arrears of salary?”