In a week, or two, they were formally told of the arrangements to be
made in their favour. A small farm in the neighbourhood happened to
fall vacant; and Michael's father offered to take it for him, and be
responsible for the rent for the first year, while William Dixon was
to contribute a certain amount of stock, and both fathers were to
help towards the furnishing of the house. Susan received all this
information in a quiet, indifferent way; she did not care much for
any of these preparations, which were to hurry her through the happy
hours; she cared least of all for the money amount of dowry and of
substance. It jarred on her to be made the confidante of occasional
slight repinings of Michael's, as one by one his future father-in-law
set aside a beast or a pig for Susan's portion, which were not always
the best animals of their kind upon the farm. But he also complained
of his own father's stinginess, which somewhat, though not much,
alleviated Susan's dislike to being awakened out of her pure dream of
love to the consideration of worldly wealth.

But in the midst of all this bustle, Willie moped and pined. He had
the same chord of delicacy running through his mind that made his
body feeble and weak. He kept out of the way, and was apparently
occupied in whittling and carving uncouth heads on hazel-sticks in an
out-house. But he positively avoided Michael, and shrunk away even
from Susan. She was too much occupied to notice this at first.
Michael pointed it out to her, saying, with a laugh, -

"Look at Willie! he might be a cast-off lover and jealous of me, he
looks so dark and downcast at me." Michael spoke this jest out loud,
and Willie burst into tears, and ran out of the house.