“If Dick could make a living,” I said, “by getting people to like him, I should not be so anxious about his future—lazy young devil!” “He has promised to work hard if you let him take up farming,” said Miss Janie. “He has been talking to you?” I said. She admitted it. “He will begin well,” I said. “I know him. In a month he will have tired of it, and be clamouring to do something else.” “I shall be very disappointed in him if he does,” she said. “I will tell him that,” I said, “it may help. People don’t like other people to be disappointed in them.” “I would rather you didn’t,” she said. “You could say that father will be disappointed in him. Father formed rather a good opinion of him, I know.” “I will tell him,” I suggested, “that we shall all be disappointed in him.” She agreed to that, and we parted. I remembered, when she was gone, that after all we had not settled terms. Dick overtook me a little way from home. “I have settled your business,” I told him. “It’s awfully good of you,” said Dick. “Mind,” I continued, “it’s on the understanding that you throw yourself into the thing and work hard. If you don’t, I shall be disappointed in you, I tell you so frankly.” “That’s all right, governor,” he answered cheerfully. “Don’t you worry.” “Mr. St. Leonard will also be disappointed in you, Dick,” I informed him. “He has formed a very high opinion of you. Don’t give him cause to change it.” “I’ll get on all right with him,” answered Dick. “Jolly old duffer, ain’t he?” “Miss Janie will also be disappointed in you,” I added. “Did she say that?” he asked. “She mentioned it casually,” I explained: “though now I come to think of it she asked me not to say so. What she wanted me to impress upon you was that her father would be disappointed in you.” Dick walked beside me in silence for awhile. “Sorry I’ve been a worry to you, dad,” he said at last “Glad to hear you say so,” I replied. “I’m going to turn over a new leaf, dad,” he said. “I’m going to work hard.” “About time,” I said. CHAPTER VI WE had cold bacon for lunch that day. There was not much of it. I took it to be the bacon we had not eaten for breakfast. But on a clean dish with parsley it looked rather neat. It did not suggest, however, a lunch for four people, two of whom had been out all the morning in the open air. There was some excuse for Dick. “I never heard before,” said Dick, “of cold fried bacon as a _hors d’œuvre_.” “It is not a _hors d’œuvre_,” explained Robina. “It is all there is for lunch.” She spoke in the quiet, passionless voice of one who has done with all human emotion. She added that she should not be requiring any herself, she having lunched already. Veronica, conveying by her tone and bearing the impression of something midway between a perfect lady and a Christian martyr, observed that she also had lunched. “Wish I had,” growled Dick.