But how can
you go yet? 'Tis like leaving the field to me--as to _her_, you know."
I motioned with my head toward the Faringfield house.
"Why," he replied, as we both sat down on the wooden bench, "as I
shall be gone years when I do go, Mr. Faringfield stipulated only that
I should remain with him here another year; and I was mighty glad he
did, or I should have had to make that offer. 'Twasn't that I was
anxious to be off so soon, that made me tell him I was going; 'twas
that in harbouring the intention, while he still relied upon my
remaining always with him, I seemed to be guilty of a kind of
treachery. As for--_her_, if she gives no indication within a year,
especially when she knows I'm going, why, 'twill be high time to leave
the field to you, I think."
"She doesn't know yet?"
"No; I came first to you. Her father isn't home yet."
"Well, Phil, there's little for me to say. You know what my feelings
are. After all, we are to have you for a year, and then--well, I hope
you may become the greatest architect that ever lived!"
"Why, now, 'tis strange; you remind me of my reason for going. Since
Mr. Faringfield gave me his sanction, I hadn't thought of that. I'm
afraid I've been something of a hypocrite. And yet I certainly thought
my desire to go was chiefly on account of my architectural studies;
and I certainly intend to pursue them, too. I must have deceived
myself a little, though, by dwelling on that reason as one that would
prevail with Mr.
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