“But indeed he will not get away,” declared Anna. “Mr. Durell said he should keep him, and was so angry with me for being sure that it was our Stephen, that I quite expect Stephen will stay and brave it out. We will go together, and try what we can do to get back the linen, if——O, Aaron! if you will but try to keep your temper. But, indeed, Aaron, I had rather lose all the clothes I have left,—everything I have in the world,—than see you lose your temper as you do sometimes.” “What is it to you?” asked Aaron. “You have asked me that very often before, and I have always told you——” “Yes; I know—I know. But I am not half so likely to be surly even to Stephen as to——I tell you, Anna, you have no idea what it is to be under my father, every hour of the day.” “Have not I? I think I have; for, though I do not want more freedom myself, I know what it must be to you to want it. It makes me turn sometimes hot and sometimes cold when I hear him answer for you to strangers, as if you were a child, or settling all your little matters at home, without so much as ever looking in your face to see how you like what he is doing.” “Really! Do you always see that? If I had known that——” “You might have known it. You did know it; for I have told you so a hundred times.” “But one can never be sure of it at the moment; and you always keep your head down so, when my father and I have any words.” “Because I am always thinking what a pity it is that neither of you is ready with a soft answer; and I must say, you ought to be the readiest, from your being the son. But is it really true that you are going to leave my father?” “Who said such a thing?” “Mr. Studley told my father so, before several of the men, and they must have seen that he did not know it before.” “My father must have put him into a passion, or he would not have let it out till next week. How much more did he tell you?” “Nothing; but you must let me know all now; and my father as soon as we go home.” “There is no reason for its being a secret, further than that the plans are not all settled yet. Studley happened to know of a glass-bottle work, where they will be glad to take in an active young partner, with the prospect of his joining the stone-bottle making with it, by and bye. Now, you need not look so shocked, as if anybody was thinking of making away with my father. The thing is this;—that Studley is sure my father will soon be tired of carrying on his pottery business by himself, and will be off for Jersey again; and then the business will come to me: and no two businesses can be more fit to go on together than the black-glass and the stone-ware. Studley says I shall be one of the first men in London, some day.” “But where is it? Who taught you to make glass? What can you know about it?” asked the alarmed sister.