’Mr Ellison the Justice!—­who lives in King Street? why, he drives his carriage!’ said I, doubting, yet exultant.

’Ay, lad, John Ellison.  But that’s no sign that I shall drive my carriage.  Though I should like to save thy mother walking, for she’s not so young as she was.  But that’s a long way off; anyhow.  I reckon I should start with a third profit.  It might be seven hundred, or it might be more.  I should like to have the power to work out some fancies o’ mine.  I care for that much more than for th’ brass.  And Ellison has no lads; and by nature the business would come to thee in course o’ time.  Ellison’s lasses are but bits o’ things, and are not like to come by husbands just yet; and when they do, maybe they’ll not be in the mechanical line.  It will be an opening for thee, lad, if thou art steady.  Thou’rt not great shakes, I know, in th’ inventing line; but many a one gets on better without having fancies for something he does not see and never has seen.  I’m right down glad to see that mother’s cousins are such uncommon folk for sense and goodness.  I have taken the minister to my heart like a brother; and she is a womanly quiet sort of a body.  And I’ll tell you frank, Paul, it will be a happy day for me if ever you can come and tell me that Phillis Holman is like to be my daughter.  I think if that lass had not a penny, she would be the making of a man; and she’ll have yon house and lands, and you may be her match yet in fortune if all goes well.’

I was growing as red as fire; I did not know what to say, and yet I wanted to say something; but the idea of having a wife of my own at some future day, though it had often floated about in my own head, sounded so strange when it was thus first spoken about by my father.  He saw my confusion, and half smiling said,—­

’Well, lad, what dost say to the old father’s plans?  Thou art but young, to be sure; but when I was thy age, I would ha’ given my right hand if I might ha’ thought of the chance of wedding the lass I cared for—­’

‘My mother?’ asked I, a little struck by the change of his tone of voice.

’No! not thy mother.  Thy mother is a very good woman—­none better.  No! the lass I cared for at nineteen ne’er knew how I loved her, and a year or two after and she was dead, and ne’er knew.  I think she would ha’ been glad to ha’ known it, poor Molly; but I had to leave the place where we lived for to try to earn my bread and I meant to come back but before ever I did, she was dead and gone:  I ha’ never gone there since.  But if you fancy Phillis Holman, and can get her to fancy you, my lad, it shall go different with you, Paul, to what it did with your father.’

I took counsel with myself very rapidly, and I came to a clear conclusion.  ‘Father,’ said I, ’if I fancied Phillis ever so much, she would never fancy me.  I like her as much as I could like a sister; and she likes me as if I were her brother—­her younger brother.’