I, that would die to save them from such undeserved sorrow."
Then Harry rose up angrily, pushed his chair impatiently away, and
without a word went to his own room.
In the morning the squire came down to breakfast in exceedingly high
spirits. A Scotchman would have called him "_fey_," and been certain
that misfortune was at his heels. And Charlotte looked at him in
wondering pity, for Harry's face was the face of a man determined to
carry out his own will regardless of consequences.
"Come, come, Harry," said the squire in a loud, cheerful voice, "you are
moping, and eating no breakfast. Charlotte will have to fill three times
before it is 'cup down' with me. I think we will take Dobbin, and go
over to Windermere in the tax-cart. The roads will be a bit sloppery,
but Dobbin isn't too old to splash through them at a rattling pace. He
is a famous good old-has-been is Dobbin. Give me a Suffolk Punch for a
roadster. I set much by them. Eh? What?"
"I must leave Sandal this morning, sir."
"Sir me no sir, Harry. 'Father' will stand between you and me, I think.
You must make a put-off for one day. I was at Bowness last week, and
they say such a winter for char-fishing was never seen. While I was on
the lakeside, Kit Noble's boat came in. He had all of twenty dozen in
the bottom of it. Mr. Wordsworth was there too, and he made a piece of
poetry about 'The silvery lights playing over them;' and he took me to
see a picture that a London gentleman painted of Kit and his boat.
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