“Mary could not have acted otherwise, even if she had known what would be the effect on Fred,” said Mrs. Garth, pausing from her work, and looking at Mr. Farebrother.
“And she was quite ignorant of it. It seems to me, a loss which falls on another because we have done right is not to lie upon our conscience.”
The Vicar did not answer immediately, and Caleb said, “It’s the feeling. The child feels in that way, and I feel with her. You don’t mean your horse to tread on a dog when you’re backing out of the way; but it goes through you, when it’s done.”
“I am sure Mrs. Garth would agree with you there,” said Mr. Farebrother, who for some reason seemed more inclined to ruminate than to speak. “One could hardly say that the feeling you mention about Fred is wrong—or rather, mistaken—though no man ought to make a claim on such feeling.”
“Well, well,” said Caleb, “it’s a secret. You will not tell Fred.”
“Certainly not. But I shall carry the other good news—that you can afford the loss he caused you.”
Mr. Farebrother left the house soon after, and seeing Mary in the orchard with Letty, went to say goodbye to her. They made a pretty picture in the western light which brought out the brightness of the apples on the old scant-leaved boughs—Mary in her lavender gingham