“My dear Fanny!” I exclaimed, “what are you saying?”

“Why, you see, buddy,”—­she often called me “buddy” for “brother,”—­“that, if Rachel loves you, and you love her, you will have each other.  If Aunt Huldah is angry, and won’t give you any of her money, still you will be married, even if you both have to work by the day.  Does this seem clear?”

I laughed, and said,—­

“Very,—­and right, too.”

“Still,” she went on, “it will be better for all concerned to have Aunt Huldah like her.  Don’t you remember that one summer a young girl from the milliner’s boarded with us, and helped us, to pay her board?”

“Capital!” I said.  “But can you manage it?”

“I think I can.  Mrs. Sampson is, I know, wanting a girl for the busy season.”

“But Rachel wouldn’t come here,—­to my home!”

“She need not know it is your home.  I will write to Mrs. James, and tell her all about it,—­tell why I want Rachel here, and what a good situation it will be for her at Mrs. Sampson’s.  She can find out whether the plan is pleasing to her; and if it is, she can herself make all the arrangements.  Of course I shall charge her not to tell.  Then, when everything is settled, I can just say to the milliner that we should like to make the same little arrangement that we did before.”

“And she live here with you, with Aunt Huldah?”

“Why not?  She needn’t know that Mrs. Huldah Sprague is your aunt, or that this is your home.”

“But she would find it out some way.  People calling would mention me.  Aunt herself would.”

“I know it,” said Fanny, not quite so hopefully; “and that is the weak point of my plan.  But then, you know, we are Charley and Fanny to everybody. She only thinks of you as Mr. Browne.  Anyway, something will be gained.  I shall see her, and decide about liking her, which is quite important; and it will be well for her to have the situation, even if nothing else comes of it.  I don’t see any harm our scheme can do; do you, Charley?”

“No,—­no harm; but still, things don’t look—­exactly clear.”

“Of course not; it is not to be expected.  I have read in books that lovers have always a mist before their eyes.  Mine are clear yet; and I will tell you what to do,—­or, rather, what not to do.  Don’t write her from here; wait till you are in Cambridge.”

By this time we reached the house.  The moment we entered, Aunt Huldah stretched out her hand for the dye-stuff.  We had forgotten all about it!

Those few days at home were pleasant.  Aunt Huldah was unusually kind.  It was such a satisfaction to her to know that I had kept a school,—­to think that some of her own pluck was hid beneath my quiet seeming.  She proposed my becoming a lawyer, to which I made no objection,—­for I knew I could make a dumb lawyer, one of the kind who only sit and write.