I don't
think they can mend you," said he.
The communication and flattering response were made at Brook, in the
sitting-room of the farm--a spacious, half-wainscoted room, with dark
polished floor, and a shabby old Persian carpet in the centre of it. A
very picture-like interior it was, with the afternoon sun pouring
through its vine-shaded open lattice, though time and weather-stains
were on the ceiling and pale-colored walls, and its scant furniture was
cumbrous, worn, and unbeautiful. The farm-house had been the manor once,
and was fast falling to pieces. Mr. Musgrave's landlord was an
impoverished man, but he could not sell a rood of his land, because his
heir was a cousin with whom he was at feud. It was a daily trial to Mrs.
Musgrave's orderly disposition that she had not a neat home about her,
but its large negligence suited her husband and son. This bare
sitting-room was Harry's own, and with the wild greenery outside was
warm, sweet, and fresh in hot summer weather, though a few damp days
filled it with odors of damp and decay. It was a cell in winter, but in
July a bower.
And none the less a bower for those two young people in it this
afternoon. Mr. Carnegie had dropped Bessie at Brook in the morning, and
young Musgrave was to escort her home in the cool of the evening. His
mother and she had spent an hour together since the midday dinner, and
now the son of the house had called for her.
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