years. Why, I bet right now I’m just as healthy as you are—I mean just as sound in wind and limb; and if I was staying on at the farm, I’d prove it to you. You’re suffering from a fixed idea about my delicateness—and so are Pa and Ma. Every time I’ve offered to help, Pa has stared at me as if he thought I was contemplating suicide.
Andrew—[Conciliatingly.] Nobody claimed the undertaker was taking your measurements. All I was saying was the sea trip would be bound to do anybody good.
Robert—If I had no other excuse for going on Uncle Dick’s ship but just my health, I’d stay right here and start in plowing.
Andrew—Can’t be done. No use in your talking that way, Rob. Farming ain’t your nature. There’s all the difference shown in just the way us two feel about the farm. I like it, all of it, and you—well, you like the home part of it, I expect; but as a place to work and grow things, you hate it. Ain’t that right?
Robert—Yes, I suppose it is. I’ve tried to take an interest but—well, you’re the Mayo branch of the family, and I take after Ma and Uncle Dick. It’s natural enough when you come to think of it. The Mayos have been farmers from way back, while the Scotts have been mostly sea-faring folks, with a school teacher thrown in now and then on the woman’s side—just as Ma was before her marriage.
Andrew—You do favor Ma. I remember she used
