Julia did not mind in the least; if he was happy and contented, that was all she wished; she never reckoned his help as one of the assets of the household.  For that matter, she had not reckoned Mr. Gillat’s of much value either, but there she found she was a little mistaken.  Johnny was very slow and very laborious and really ingenious in finding a wrong way of doing things even when she thought she had left him no choice, but he was very painstaking and persevering.  He would do anything he was told, and he took the greatest pleasure in doing it.  Whether it was digging in the garden, or feeding the pigs, or collecting firewood, or setting the table for meals, he was certain to do everything to the best of his ability, and was perfectly happy if she would employ him.  There can be no doubt that the coming to White’s Cottage began a time of real happiness to Mr. Gillat; possibly the happiest since his wealthy boyhood when he spent lavishly and indiscriminately on anybody and everybody.  The Captain was less happy; his satisfaction was of an intermittent order.  His discontent did not take the form of wishing to go back to Marbridge or to join his wife, only in feeling oppressed and misunderstood, and wishing occasionally that he had not been born or had been born rich—­and of course remained so all his life.  He was dissatisfied that evening when the contentment begotten of his work had worn off; he wanted to go to the market town to-morrow.  Julia was going to get several necessaries for the household; he considered that he ought to go too, but she would not take him.

“You will have a great deal to carry,” he protested.

“Yes,” Julia agreed; “but I shall manage it.”

“It is not fit for you to go about alone,” her father urged.

She forebore to smile, though the novelty, not to say tardiness of the idea amused her; she only said, “It would take you and Johnny too long to walk into the town; we can’t afford to spend too long on the way, and we can’t afford a cart to take us.”

The Captain was not convinced; he never was by any one’s logic but his own; perhaps because his own was totally different to all other kinds, including the painful logic of facts.  He sighed deeply.  “It is a strange, a humiliating condition of things,” he observed to Mr. Gillat, “when a father has to ask his daughter’s permission to go into town.”

Johnny rubbed the side of his chair thoughtfully, then a bright idea occurred to him.  “Ah, but,” he said, “gentlemen always have to ask ladies’ permission before they can accompany them anywhere—­especially when it is the lady of the house.”

A wise man might not perhaps have said this last, but Johnny did, and as it happened, it did not much matter; before the Captain could answer, Julia rose from the table and began to clear away.