'We never drink spirits at this table, on principle,' added his
father.
'But what shall I tell the dairyman's wife?' said Angel.
'The truth, of course,' said his father.
'I rather wanted to say we enjoyed the mead and the black-puddings
very much. She is a kind, jolly sort of body, and is sure to ask me
directly I return.'
'You cannot, if we did not,' Mr Clare answered lucidly.
'Ah--no; though that mead was a drop of pretty tipple.'
'A what?' said Cuthbert and Felix both.
'Oh--'tis an expression they use down at Talbothays,' replied Angel,
blushing. He felt that his parents were right in their practice if
wrong in their want of sentiment, and said no more.
XXVI
It was not till the evening, after family prayers, that Angel found
opportunity of broaching to his father one or two subjects near his
heart. He had strung himself up to the purpose while kneeling behind
his brothers on the carpet, studying the little nails in the heels of
their walking boots. When the service was over they went out of the
room with their mother, and Mr Clare and himself were left alone.
The young man first discussed with the elder his plans for the
attainment of his position as a farmer on an extensive scale--either
in England or in the Colonies. His father then told him that, as he
had not been put to the expense of sending Angel up to Cambridge, he
had felt it his duty to set by a sum of money every year towards the
purchase or lease of land for him some day, that he might not feel
himself unduly slighted.
'As far as worldly wealth goes,' continued his father, 'you will no
doubt stand far superior to your brothers in a few years.'
This considerateness on old Mr Clare's part led Angel onward to the
other and dearer subject. He observed to his father that he was
then six-and-twenty, and that when he should start in the farming
business he would require eyes in the back of his head to see to all
matters--some one would be necessary to superintend the domestic
labours of his establishment whilst he was afield. Would it not be
well, therefore, for him to marry?
His father seemed to think this idea not unreasonable; and then Angel
put the question--
'What kind of wife do you think would be best for me as a thrifty
hard-working farmer?'
'A truly Christian woman, who will be a help and a comfort to you in
your goings-out and your comings-in. Beyond that, it really matters
little. Such an one can be found; indeed, my earnest-minded friend
and neighbour, Dr Chant--'
'But ought she not primarily to be able to milk cows, churn good
butter, make immense cheeses; know how to sit hens and turkeys and
rear chickens, to direct a field of labourers in an emergency, and
estimate the value of sheep and calves?'
'Yes; a farmer's wife; yes, certainly. It would be desirable.' Mr
Clare, the elder, had plainly never thought of these points before.
