The First Quarter
took up his knife and fork again, and went to work. But much more slowly than before, and shaking his head, as if he were not at all pleased with himself.
“I had my dinner, father,” said Meg, after a little hesitation, “with—with Richard. His dinner-time was early; and as he brought his dinner with him when he came to see me, we—we had it together, father.”
Trotty took a little beer, and smacked his lips. Then he said, “Oh!”—because she waited.
“And Richard says, father—” Meg resumed. Then stopped.
“What does Richard say, Meg?” asked Toby.
“Richard says, father—” Another stoppage.
“Richard’s a long time saying it,” said Toby.
“He says then, father,” Meg continued, lifting up her eyes at last, and speaking in a tremble, but quite plainly; “another year is nearly gone, and where is the use of waiting on from year to year, when it is so unlikely we shall ever be better off than we are now? He says we are poor now, father, and we shall be poor then, but we are young now, and years will make us old before we know it. He says that if we wait: people in our condition: until we see our way quite clearly, the way will be a narrow one indeed—the common way—the Grave, father.”
A bolder man than Trotty Veck must needs have drawn upon his boldness largely, to deny it. Trotty held his peace.
“And how hard, father, to grow old, and die, and think we21
