“Oh yes,” said Caleb, in a deep voice of assent, as if it would be unreasonable to suppose anything else of him.  “It’ll come to between four and five hundred, the two together.”  Then with a little start of remembrance he said, “Mary, write and give up that school.  Stay and help your mother.  I’m as pleased as Punch, now I’ve thought of that.”

No manner could have been less like that of Punch triumphant than Caleb’s, but his talents did not lie in finding phrases, though he was very particular about his letter-writing, and regarded his wife as a treasury of correct language.

There was almost an uproar among the children now, and Mary held up the cambric embroidery towards her mother entreatingly, that it might be put out of reach while the boys dragged her into a dance.  Mrs. Garth, in placid joy, began to put the cups and plates together, while Caleb pushing his chair from the table, as if he were going to move to the desk, still sat holding his letters in his hand and looking on the ground meditatively, stretching out the fingers of his left hand, according to a mute language of his own.  At last he said—­

“It’s a thousand pities Christy didn’t take to business, Susan.  I shall want help by-and-by.  And Alfred must go off to the engineering—­ I’ve made up my mind to that.”  He fell into meditation and finger-rhetoric again for a little while, and then continued:  “I shall make Brooke have new agreements with the tenants, and I shall draw up a rotation of crops.  And I’ll lay a wager we can get fine bricks out of the clay at Bott’s corner.  I must look into that:  it would cheapen the repairs.  It’s a fine bit of work, Susan!  A man without a family would be glad to do it for nothing.”

“Mind you don’t, though,” said his wife, lifting up her finger.

“No, no; but it’s a fine thing to come to a man when he’s seen into the nature of business:  to have the chance of getting a bit of the country into good fettle, as they say, and putting men into the right way with their farming, and getting a bit of good contriving and solid building done—­that those who are living and those who come after will be the better for.  I’d sooner have it than a fortune.  I hold it the most honorable work that is.”  Here Caleb laid down his letters, thrust his fingers between the buttons of his waistcoat, and sat upright, but presently proceeded with some awe in his voice and moving his head slowly aside—­“It’s a great gift of God, Susan.”

“That it is, Caleb,” said his wife, with answering fervor.  “And it will be a blessing to your children to have had a father who did such work:  a father whose good work remains though his name may be forgotten.”  She could not say any more to him then about the pay.