The Blind Girl smiled and nodded.
‘ The bird that can sing and won’t sing, must be made to sing, they say,’ grumbled Tackleton. ‘What about the owl that can’t sing, and oughtn’t to sing, and will sing; is there anything that he should be made to do?’
‘ The extent to which he’s winking at this moment!’ whispered Caleb to his daughter. ‘O, my gracious!’
‘ Always merry and light-hearted with us!’ cried the smiling Bertha.
‘ O, you’re there, are you?’ answered Tackleton. ‘Poor i***t!’
He really did believe she was an i***t; and he founded the belief, I can’t say whether consciously or not, upon her being fond of him.
‘ Well! and being there,—how are you?’ said Tackleton, in his grudging way.
‘ Oh! well; quite well. And as happy as even you can wish me to be. As happ
