Uncle Christopher looked one evening with concern, on a hedge which as much deserved the name of verdure as the shrubs in certain small squares in London, the morning after a fire in the neighbourhood. He was on the point of setting out on his long talked-of voyage to London, on the business of his patent; and he wished to take a parting view of the premises he had not quitted for twelve hours together, since the day he was made a ferryman many years before. Strongly as he was persuaded that Walter and his young wife were, as yet, in danger of a much fiercer fire than any of the vast number which could be seen round the horizon on a dark night, he preserved such an affection for the results of their toil that he was full of wrath that mortal hands should kindle a fire against them. As he here shook his head mournfully over a row of shrivelled anemones, and there groaned at seeing the young asparagus waving grey instead of green, any brother leaders would have supposed that they were children of grace to whom all this sympathy was given. At the bottom of his grief lay the thought that, if this nuisance continued, Walter would be compelled to carry his gardening skill elsewhere. He could not carry the ferry with him, and then would come a sore struggle to choose between his son and his occupation. Walter would have been highly flattered if he could have looked into his father’s heart, and seen how equally the struggle was maintained. “I see the boat coming for you, with Cuddie in it—below the bend of the river there,” said Effie; “but you will have time to look at my young apricot, and tell me whether you think there is any chance of its bearing.” She received a very broad hint about setting her heart upon favourites, but was comforted notwithstanding, by an encouraging opinion about the apricot: Walter was further told that he might just mention the asparagus and the apricot together in the first letter he should write after hearing of his father’s arrival. “Why, father! do you really mean to write to us?” cried Walter, in joyful surprise. “No, no,” said Effie. “He means that we shall hear from Cuddie of his getting to London.” “I mean that if, by grace, I get safe through the dangers of the deep waters, I shall give you the opportunity of being thankful for me.” “And when will it be, father?” “The times are not in our own hands. Effie, you say the boat is to be chiefly your charge.” “Yes, father, you know I have practised ferrying a good deal lately, on purpose.” “She is more sure of her oar than I,” observed Walter. “What of that? Why do you puff her up? Except One guide the boat, as well as build the house, we labour in vain, with our weak arm of flesh.” “Indeed I am not puffed up about ferrying,” said Effie. “I know I cannot do it half so well as you. But I hope to improve before you come back.”