“It is such semblance of good fellowship, such a wearisome pretence of good wishes that mean nothing,” he said one day.  “What value is there in such talk?”

“Well,” answered the squire, “it isn’t a bad thing for some of us to feel obliged once in a twelve months to be good-natured, and give our neighbors a kind wish.  There are them that never do it except at Christmas.  Eh?  What?”

“Such wishes mean nothing.”

“Nay, now, there is no need to think that kind words are false words.  There is a deal of good sometimes in a mouthful of words.  Eh?  What?”

“And yet, sir, as the queen of the crocodiles remarked, ’Words mend none of the eggs that are broken.’”

“I know nothing about the queen of the crocodiles.  But if you don’t believe in words, Julius, it is quite allowable at Christmas time to put your good words into any substantial form you like.  Nobody will doubt a good wish that is father to a handsome gift; so, if you don’t believe in good words, you have a very reliable substitute in good deeds.  I saw how you looked when I said ‘A merry Christmas’ to old Simon Gills, and you had to say the words after me.  Very well; send old Simon a new plaid or a pound of tobacco, and he’ll believe in your wish, and you’ll believe in yourself.  Eh?  What?”

The days were full of such strained conversations on various topics.  Harry could say nothing which Julius did not politely challenge by some doubtful inquiry.  Julius felt in every word and action of Harry’s the authority of the heir, and the forbearance of a host tolerant to a guest.  He complained bitterly to Sophia of the position in which he was constantly put.  “Your father and brother have been examining timber, and looking at the out-houses this morning, and I understand they were discussing the building of a conservatory for Charlotte; but I was left out of the conversation entirely.  Is it fair, Sophia?  You and I are the next heirs, and just as likely to inherit as Harry.  More so, I may say, for a soldier’s life is already sold, and Harry is reckless and dissipated as well.  I think I ought to have been consulted.  I should not be in favor of thinning the timber.  I dare say it is done to pay Harry’s bills; and thus, you see, it may really be we who are made to suffer.  I don’t think your father likes our marriage, dear one.”

“But he gave his consent, beloved.”

“I was very dissatisfied with his way of doing it.  He might as well have said, ’If it has to be, it has to be; and there is no use fretting about it.’  I may be wrong, but that is the impression his consent left on my mind.  And he was quite unreasonable when I alluded to money matters.  I would not have believed that your father was capable of being so disagreeably haughty.  Of course, I expected him to say something about our rights, failing Harry’s, and he treated them as if they did not exist.  Even when I introduced them in the most delicate way, he was what I call downright rude.  ‘Julius,’ he said, ’I will not discuss any future that pre-supposes Harry’s death.’”