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Clean Welds, Dirty Mind
Good With His Hands
M.K. Moore
Flirty Filth Publishing
Copyright © 2023 by M.K. Moore

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission
from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover created by Love The Cover

Created with Vellum

For those that love a man who knows what he’s doing…
 Contents

Blurb

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

Looking For More Good With His Hands

ABOUT M.K.
 Blurb

Kent Beaufoy
From the moment she texted me, I wanted her. She didn't feel the
same as any other woman. I tried to be her friend first, craving her
in a way I never had before. I'm good at my job, but my mind
wanders. All I can think about is her. All the thoughts I have of her
are dirty. Filthy. Depraved. There are many, many creative ways I'm
going to use to make her mine.

Belle Fisher
I was determined to have a career in fashion, but that was just a
dream. The only job I could get was in a Baton Rouge construction
office. Most of the guys in the office are just awful, but there's one I
can't get off my mind. My dirty, dirty mind. I know I should stop this
and push him away, but he's soooo good with his hands, among
other things...
Will Kent and Belle make it? I mean, yeah, M.K. Moore wrote this,
but in this case, it's about the dirty journey to get there.
Whether they're construction workers, carpenters, roofers, plumbers,
welders, mechanics, electricians, factory machinists, metalworkers,
trash collectors, cement workers, movers, heavy-equipment
operators, tow truck drivers, oil rig workers, or canoe builders, these
blue-collar heroes all have in two things in common:
They’re good with their hands, and they’re not afraid to get dirty.
Really, really dirty.
Join your favorite instalove authors for 15 steamy love stories
featuring blue-collar men who work hard and fall hard when they
meet the women who steal their hearts.
Chapter One
 Kent Beaufoy

“Marla, you’re going to be late for school!” I shout to my youngest

sister as I pull my work boots on. I have five younger sisters that
I’ve raised for the last ten years. I was twenty when my parents died
in an accident where they were hit by a drunk driver. Marla was in
the car with them. She had six broken bones and is scarred inside
and out from that night. My sisters still live in the home I bought
back when I had no business buying more than a fucking loaf of
bread. My sisters are my life. Everything I did was for them. There
was no way in hell our family was being split up. The twins, Tasha
and Marsha, are now twenty; Alisha is nineteen; Portia is eighteen;
Marla is sixteen and the only one still in high school; At twenty-
three, I was two years out of college and still living at home. I
always knew I wanted to own my construction business, but that
hasn’t happened so far. I had a Bachelor of Science in Construction
Management from LSU but hadn’t found a job yet. All that changed
quickly, especially once Marla was released from the hospital. Once
upon a time, we lived in a huge house in the good part of town.
Hurricane Katrina destroyed it, and their homeowner's insurance
didn’t cover everything. So they downsized and moved us all across
town. My parents rented the house we lived in, and the property
manager said the leaseholder had to be older than twenty-five, so I
went on the hunt for a house that would accommodate us all for
years. Buying was my only option because New Orleans is a party
town. Everywhere I looked for a rental, it was twenty-five and up.
Desperate, I applied for a mortgage and got it, but it was at ten
percent interest, well above the national average of four percent at
the time. Beggars can’t be choosers. I will be paying this house off
until I die. I know that. My parents had managed to save up about
twenty-five thousand dollars which was in their savings account that
went to me, but they had about six thousand in their checking
account. Their life insurance payouts paid for the funeral and left me
about a thousand dollars. I used the twenty-five for the down
payment on a house. However, looking back, I realize that without
their hard-earned savings, I would have lost custody of my sisters. It
was all on me until two years ago. I didn’t mind the hard work. Then
Tasha turned eighteen and started working at that time, right when
she first started college. She told me she was waitressing, but a
buddy of mine told me the truth. I made her stop when I realized
she was stripping. She forked over her tips for bills; I couldn’t have
that, especially after she told me she hated the way her customers
treated her. She liked the dancing and the money, but what kind of
brother would I be if I let her continue doing something that made
her feel awful? I figured out how to get food stamps real quick as
well as any other government assistance I could; as soon as I was
able, I got off all that, and we’ve thrived as a family. I finally found a
job in my chosen field, and I’ve been there for nine years now. My
specialty is welding but specifically underwater welding.
The great thing about my job is that my jobs get sent to me via
text. I show up at various construction sites in Baton Rouge, New
Orleans, and anywhere between the two cities. I rarely have reason
to go into the offices of the Baker Brothers Construction company,
which are in Baton Rouge, but I know I have to sometime this week.
I need to fill out several forms for my insurance, but today won’t be
that day. I have to be at four different sites by six tonight. At least
they are all in New Orleans.
“Stop yelling at me,” Marla says, coming into the living room,
plopping down next to me, and grabbing her chosen shoes for the
day. We don’t wear shoes in the house; it cuts down on how often
we need to mop, which is something we all hate doing. I designed
most of the furniture in the house, including the shoe bench we’re
sitting on by the front door. I learned to be frugal; the only large
purchase I’ve made besides the house was two used Hondas
Accords for Marsha and Alisha. I drive my dad’s truck which was
brand new in 2013, so it’s still going strong. My mom’s car was the
one totaled in the accident that claimed their lives, so the insurance
company replaced it with a model year newer, so it’s a 2010 Honda
Accord that Tasha drives. Right now, Portia hates to drive, though
she can and does when necessary. She mostly catches rides with her
sisters or her boyfriend. I’m afraid Marla will never drive. She can
barely tolerate being a passenger in a car, let alone driving one.
“I’m not yelling at you, ma petite soeur, I was just getting your
attention.”
“You’re dropping me off today?” she asks as she wraps the
straps of her sandals up her calf. It’s close to the end of the school
year, and she doesn’t have to wear her uniform to school for the last
two weeks. She goes to a public school, but they implemented
uniforms two years ago when one of the girls thought a miniskirt
and no underwear was appropriate to wear to class. It was an extra
expense I didn’t need at the time, but it saved me two years' worth
of back-to-school name-brand clothes from the mall.
“Yes. Alisha had an early class.” Since we’re legacies at LSU, she
was able to get a scholarship. She’s studying childhood education so
that she can be a teacher. Both of our parents and I graduated from
there. Tasha, Marsha, and Alisha currently attend. I assume Marla
will also go there if she’s even going to college. All she thinks about
is fashion and going to Hollywood. I might be selfish, but I hope she
changes her mind. I don’t want her to go that far away, though I
know it’s a natural part of growing up. I hate to admit this, but she’s
my favorite sister. She needed me the most as she was growing up.
“Great, thank you. Let’s go, though. I want to get a beignet on
the way, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. I could use another cup of coffee,” I tell her as we
leave the house and lock the door behind us.
Now that my sisters are either grown or practically grown, I’ve
been thinking more and more about settling down. The last date I
went on was the homecoming dance during my senior year in high
school. I was the fullback on the football team. My date was a little
bitch, though. She ruined my night as well as most of my friend's
nights. She had been fucking the principal of the school for almost
four years, so definitely back when she was underage. She found
herself pregnant and was looking to dupe any guy in the senior class
to fuck her so she could pass the baby off as his. I turned her down
flat because I wasn’t losing my virginity to her. No way in hell. She
got pissed and proceed to proposition everyone around us. When no
one took the bait, she freaked the fuck out and told on herself and
Principal Smithers. He was a young principal, maybe thirty at the
time. Old enough to know better, though, they both were. It was sad
but hilarious. Last I heard, they got married, him not even knowing
she was pregnant until that night. I eventually got rid of that pesky
virginity in college, and I’ve had a few girlfriends since then, but
nothing serious. None of them wanted anything to do with my
raising five sisters. Good riddance.
After leaving the famous Beignet bakery, I drive to Marla’s
school and park in front of it. “Alisha will pick you up after band
practice. Have a good day, ma petite soeur,” I tell her.
“You could just call me Marla, ya know?” she says as she leans
over to kiss my cheek.
“I could, but I won’t,” I reply, chuckling. She laughs, grabs her
bag, her coffee, and her bag of beignets, and gets out, slamming
the door behind her.
I’m still chuckling as I drive away. I could definitely stand to
raise a couple more kids with the woman of my dreams beside me.
Whoever she is.
Chapter Two
 Belle Fisher

Growing up, I had the best examples of everything. Love, family,

and work ethic. My parents, Kellen and Annika, were neighbors
growing up in our tiny town, Pine Grove, a few minutes outside of
Baton Rouge. They fell in love with each other years before they
made it known. My aunt and uncle Clyde and Kerry also provided the
best examples. My mom and Uncle Clyde are brother and sister, as
are my dad and Aunt Kerry. They grew up in a house directly across
the street from each other on a dead-end street. The same street
we live on now. Both sets of my grandparents still live at the dead
end. Clyde and Kerry live in the only other house on the street
across from us. My dad and Clyde were best friends, and my mom
and Kerry were. Each couple’s love is pretty epic, and I had to
witness the public displays of affection that would shame most
people. That’s what I want. I want to embarrass my future children
like my parents did and still do to this day. It’s gross but in an
adorable way. Love wasn’t a hidden topic in our family. It’s no
wonder that’s what I’ve been waiting for. Most girls my age are out
there dating and sleeping their way through their twenties, but that’s
not me.
I want to be so in love that I don’t have any idea what’s going
on around me. I want to be so in love that my kids, while I’ll love
them and kill for them if need be, are second thoughts to my
husband, as fucked up as that sounds. I want to be so destroyed by
a man that only he can put me back together. I want that to be
consumed. I want to be devoured. I want to be owned. Okay, Okay,
I may be reading too many smut-tastic books, but I can’t help it. I
want what I want.
While I wait for that, though, I’ve got to work, so I don’t drive
myself crazy. I expect to work after I meet the man of my dreams as
well. I won’t be a kept woman like that. I want a partner in this life
and the next. I’ve got to stop watching Lord of the Rings…
There are a million things I could be doing for The Fisher Group,
my parent's company, but I don’t want to do that. I want to strike
out on my own and do something for myself… no matter what the
future holds for me, it's important to me that I don’t ride my parent’s
coattails forever.
My dad is a big-time chef, while my mom is the quintessential
stay-at-home mom. She raised my older brothers, Daniel, Jason, and
me while helping my dad start his restaurant empire. Daniel and
Jason are helping with that. I should be too, but running a group of
restaurants isn’t all that appealing to me. Fashion, specifically
designing size-inclusive lingerie, is what I want to be doing. I’m
forever drawing my ideas on whatever I can get my hands on;
napkins, paper towels, and menus mostly. I know I should go to
college and learn how to make this happen, but I barely made it
through high school. The thought of going through another four
years of schooling makes me physically ill.
Why can’t there be a magic genie on standby ready to grant me
my wishes? I only want these two things. I swear I’d use the third
one for world peace.
“Belle Fisher?” a man calls my name, and I look up from my
Kindle. I’ve been waiting for this job interview for about an hour
now. My dad knows the owner, Mr. Baker. He did the renovation on
Dad’s latest restaurant Annika, named after my mom.
“Yes. Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Baker.” I shake his
outstretched hand.
“Of course, but please call me Jonathan. Your father is our best
client.”
“I’m sure he keeps you busy,” I say, laughing along with him.
“For sure, come on in. Dana, would you grab me a coffee when
you have a second? Would you like something, Belle?”
“No, thank you,” I say, anxious to get this show on the road.
I sit in his office in a chair opposite his messy desk.
“So, we desperately need a Girl Friday around here. Do you
know what that is? I might be aging myself a bit,” he says,
chuckling. I join in. He’s probably sixty years old in that adorable
old-man way. Now that Dana is standing, I can see that she’s heavily
pregnant as she brings in a coffee for Jonathan and sets it on his
desk, ignoring the six empty paper cups scattered around.
“I do. Anything that needs to be done, I’m your gal, as long as
it's not construction related. I’m afraid I have no skills in that area,
but anything else.”
“That’s great. Just office work and some light cleaning. As you
can see, we need the help.”
“Sure. That’s no problem.” I actually love to clean, so this works
out.
“I’m about to go on maternity leave,” Dana says, rubbing her
big belly. A pang of jealousy hits me. At nineteen, babies should be
the furthest thing from my mind, but they are never far from my
thoughts. Fashion and babies go hand in hand, right? That’s why it’s
always been a bit of a pipe dream because if I had to choose
between a job in fashion and being a mom, being a mom would win,
hands down.
“So we need you to start right away. Can you do that? We can
start at twenty dollars an hour, with room for a raise after ninety
days. Monday through Friday, eight to four. Does that sound good?”
“That sounds great. Do you want me to start today?”
“Can you?”
“Yes. I’ve got nothing to do. I could start with cleaning.”
“That sounds amazing. I just haven’t felt like it. This man’s baby
is sapping all the energy out of me,” she says, gesturing to
Jonathan.
“Oh, you’re married?” I ask, a little surprised. That’s quite an
age gap. I’ve never seen one so large in real life. Books, for sure. It’s
kind of cool.
“Three months now,” she says, holding her left hand out to me.
“Congratulations. That’s a very nice ring,” I tell her, and she
smiles. She’s probably my age, maybe just a little older.
Nope, I’m not jealous at all.
Chapter Three
 Kent

Looking down at the text message I just received, I know that it

didn’t come from Dana. Dana is my boss’s girl, and she can be a bit
abrupt. Downright bitchy even. I know she’s pregnant, and they
must have finally got someone else in the office. I still haven’t been
in the office in a while, but I’ve got to make the time. Marla’s
insurance depends on it.
Unknown: Hi Kent! We have been contracted to upkeep some
underwater joints of the causeway. I’ve been told you are the go-to
guy for underwater welding. The fifth leg from the Metairie side is
what needs to be assessed. I have arranged for Nick to meet you
with a boat at the water’s edge at 10 this morning. Is this doable, or
should I reschedule?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Belle Fisher from Barry Brother’s Construction.
Me: The new receptionist?
Belle: Kinda. Is 10 am okay?
Me: I’ll be there
Belle: It’s good to textually meet you. Be safe out there today.
Me: It was nice to text you too. I’ll be safe, Au revoir, ma chère
Belle: Flirting with me won’t be necessary, Monsieur Beaufoy.
Me: Since when is flirting not necessary?
She doesn’t answer me, and I couldn’t help checking my damn
phone for the rest of the day. When have I ever done that? I don’t
know the woman. She could be ninety for all I know, but something
tells me she’s not.
At ten o’clock, I pull into the parking lot for the beach access to
the lake. I see Nick backing the boat down the ramp. I grab my gear
and walk over to him.
“You’re late,” he says with his standard unlit cigar in his mouth.
He quit smoking ten years ago but couldn’t give up the smell. I don’t
understand it myself, having smoked one hit from a joint in high
school. I choked on the smoke and never looked back.
“I’m exactly on time, asshole,” I say, just to fuck with the old
man. He’s Jonathan and Paul’s father. He helps out whenever a boat
is needed, so he and I work together frequently. I have a lot of
safety equipment when I’m doing an underwater job. The risk of
getting electrocuted is high as hell, not to mention the risk of
underwater explosions. Gas pockets create a volatile work
environment. There is no room for second-guessing or being afraid
of the job. If you can weld underwater, you can do anything, at least
in my opinion. I reach in, set my equipment into the boat, and climb
into it before Nick drops the trailer. He quickly parks his truck, gets
in the boat, and we’re off.
We pull up to the fifth trestle, and I gear up. I pull on my
helmet and oxygen tank before going down to access the situation.
Two joints need to be replaced immediately, but the bridge will have
to be closed for that to happen. We’ll have to coordinate with the
parish to get it set up. It will have to be done at night since that is
the main way into New Orleans. I snap some photos with the
camera built into my helmet.
There’s nothing I can safely do now, so I resurface, and we get
out of there. On the boat ride back to the beach, I make all of the
necessary arrangements to get the road closed and a crew out
there. It’s a much larger job than I can handle, but it needs to be
done as soon as possible. Tonight, before the joints give way and
disaster strikes. The very last thing New Orleans needs is another
disaster. The Causeway is the longest bridge in the US and the
largest continuous bridge over water in the world. Forty thousand
cars a day travel over it.
“Want to grab some lunch?” Nick asks after we get the boat
hooked back to his trailer.
“Sure,” I tell him, and we agree to meet at Petey’s Po Boy and
go from there.
Later that night, I am watching SportsTalk, a daily recap show of
what’s happening in the world of sports, when my phone goes off. I
look at the clock; it’s eleven-thirty. Weird dad mode kicks in since all
the girls are out. Marla’s curfew on the weekends is midnight, and
the others obviously don’t have one, but I’m here if they need me. I
pick up my phone, dreading who it might be, but I breathe a sigh of
relief when I see that it’s a text from Belle, the woman from work
earlier today.
Belle: How did it go out there? Did you make it safely?
Me: You worried about me, ma chère?
Belle: Yes. I googled underwater welding. I wish I hadn’t done
that.
For some reason, my heart skips a beat in my chest. Has it
really been so long since someone who wasn’t one of my sisters
gave a shit about me?
Me: Yeah, it can be dangerous. I do know what I’m doing
though
Belle: Your wife doesn’t mind you putting yourself in danger like
that?
The smile that crosses my face is huge.
Me: I don’t have a wife. Does your husband know you are
texting me at 11:37 at night?
Belle: No husband
Me: Surely you have someone
Belle: Nope, just me. What about you?
Me: Same. It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out?
Belle: I’m not old enough to drink, so why bother? Besides, I
can drink at home for free.
Me: Are you doing on-the-job training for high school credit?
Not old enough? Oh fuck. I need to know if I need to shut this
shit down now.
Belle: no, I graduated last year. I’m still deciding if college is
right for me. So far, it’s not.
Thank fuck, I think, but I briefly wonder if I’m too old for her.
She’s not
Me: It’s not for everyone. I did it, but I hated it.
 Belle: But at least you did it.
Me: if you think you should do it, do it.
Belle: Sound advice. Does it work for other things?
Me: It could be applied to any situation, ma chère
Belle: Why do you call me that? You don’t even know me.
Me: I don’t need to know you to call you my dear. Even via text,
I know all I need to know to want to get to know you better.
Belle: I could be a bitch, or I could be ugly.
Me: I don’t think you are a bitch, you took time out of your
Friday night to check on me, and looks don’t have anything to do
with anything. I’m a grown man. If I want something, I get it.
Something as fleeting and trivial as looks won’t stop me.
I don’t know who the hell I am right now. I want this unknown
girl more than my next breath.
Belle: and you think you want me?
Me: I know I do.
Belle: I want to get to know you too
Me: I could be a dick or ugly
Belle: I just spit water across the room. I’m not worried about
either of those things, Kent.
Me: You should be. You shouldn’t be talking to strangers over
the phone
Belle: I’m not talking to strangers. Just you.
Me: That’s a good girl.
How fast could I get to her and get inside of her? I don’t know
who I am right now, but everything in me tells me to take it slow
with this girl. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that, though.
Belle: I’m always a good girl.
Fuck. I’m a goner.
Chapter Four
 Belle

I don’t know what it is about the man, Kent. All weekend we texted
back and forth. I desperately searched social media for him, but he
doesn’t seem to have any. He told me that he’s thirty-three and that
he raised five sisters, one of which is still in high school. Is it insane
that I feel like I know him? I literally did nothing but do my laundry
and talk to the man over text. There were so many times I wanted
to dial his number and physically talk to him, but I couldn’t bring
myself to do it. I didn’t want to ruin what we started. He never
called me either, so I couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t want to.
Working at the construction company has been interesting. I’ve
learned all kinds of new things. Today is the first day that Dana is
staying home, letting me handle everything. Jonathan wasn’t kidding
when he said Gal Friday. I’ve done billing for clients, payroll for the
employees, and cleaned the crap out of this office. The layers of
dust and grime were so thick I never thought the place would come
clean. Before, it smelled like old, sweaty socks dipped in greasy food
wrappers, and now it smells like Pine-Sol and fresh linen, thanks to
the plug-in things I put in every other outlet. Don’t even get me
started on the restroom. I should have demolished it and started
over, but with a lot of elbow grease, I got it cleaned and shiny.
“Good morning, sir. Here’s your coffee,” I say, going into
Jonathan’s office, steaming cup of coffee in hand.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? Dana just did it for
me because she wanted to,” he says.
“It’s not a problem, besides you’d make a huge mess at the
coffee station.” I say, imagining sugar and creamer everywhere, and
then I mentally kick myself in the ass. He doesn’t say anything for
the longest heartbeat of my life. My stupid sassy mouth is going to
get me in trouble one day. Then he starts laughing.
 “You’d be right about that, Belle. Go on, get back to work,” he
says, still chuckling as I walk out of his office. I have got to learn
how to keep my mouth shut.
“Hey, Belle,” a voice says after the front door opens and closes.
Usually, the workers only come in on payday, and that’s only the
ones without direct deposit set up.
“Hey, Ryan,” I say automatically. The guy gives me the creeps.
He’s always just… there. I’d think he has somewhere to be, but that
never seems to be the case. He’s Jonathan’s son from his first
marriage and thinks he has a right to be anywhere. He probably
does, but I’m positive that right doesn’t include my personal space.
He plops down on the edge of my desk and right on the pile of
papers that I’m working on.
“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” he asks, and I cringe
“I thought I made it clear that I don’t date guys that I work
with.” I would never tell this guy anything about my personal life. He
is just the type that would show up outside of where someone is just
to drive them insane.
“You did. I’m just being friendly; no need to be such a bitch,” he
says, laughing. I hate this guy. I don’t normally hate people, but this
guy I definitely do.
“I have a lot of work to do,” I say, wanting him to leave.
“I’m not stopping you,” he says.
“Actually…” I begin, but I get cut off by Jonathan.
“Ryan, get your sorry ass in here and leave the poor girl alone,”
Jonathan shouts from his office. There’s no way he doesn’t know his
son is a creep. I’ve heard rumors of office girls quitting left and right
before Dana was hired. She didn’t put up with his shit. I’m
determined not to, either.
“Until next time,” he says ominously as he drags his finger down
the back of my hand. Ick. Who just touches someone like that? The
look in his eyes scares the crap out of me and sends a shiver down
my spine. I really like this job, and I’d hate to have to quit because
of some entitled brat. Neither one of my brothers would ever act like
this just because Dad owns the company. Dad would kick their
asses, and then Mom would kick their asses, too, just to make sure
the lesson stuck.
He finally leaves and goes into his father’s office. They are in
there for a while, but then they both leave the office, leaving me
blessedly alone. I spend the next few hours answering emails and
voicemails while scheduling several consults for our services. I finally
look up when my stomach grumbles. I crack my knuckles and look
around the office. It’s still quiet. It’s already one o’clock. I worked
right through lunch. Crap.
I’m finishing up the email I’m working on when the door opens.
I look up, thinking it’s got to be someone that works here because
the office isn’t open to the general public. When I do, I see the
hottest, most muscley man I’ve ever seen, striding toward me,
looking like someone pissed in his Cheerios. He literally looks painted
into his black Baker Brothers tee shirt.
“You didn’t lock the door,” the voice growls. His accent is hot as
hell. He stares at me while I stare at him. The tiny hairs on my arms
and the back of my neck stand on end. This is something.
Something I can’t quite identify.
“I-I didn’t, no,” I finally manage to say after clearing my throat.
“Belle?” he asks.
“Kent?” I ask, my mouth dropped in open.
“Oui, ma chère.”
I forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to act. I jump up
from my chair, knocking my huge water jug off the edge of my desk.
He reaches forward and catches it easily. His gaze never leaves mine
as he sets it back down.
One of us is going to have to say something, but it won’t be me
because I literally can’t. I’ve been struck dumb by this man.
Holy shit.
Chapter Five
 Kent

Her blonde hair is swept away from her face and held up with a
pencil stuck in it. She looks like a naughty librarian. She doesn’t look
like I pictured her. She looks even better than my imagination
conjured up. Believe me; my imagination ran wild over the weekend.
I can’t even remember how many times I took my dick in hand. I
don’t even know why I did it. She shouldn’t have had such an effect
on me, but she did. She got under my skin with text messages, of all
things. She’s ridiculously gorgeous. She’s plump, but that only adds
to her attractiveness. She’s all pale skin and big tits. She even has
three little freckles dotted across her nose. Who knew freckles were
so fucking sexy?
I hate that she’s here by herself. It’s unsafe. When she stands
up, my jaw drops. She’s all curves, molded into a tight knee-length
black skirt and a tight white button-up blouse. I am so caught up in
looking at her that I don’t realize she’s standing before me until she
wraps her arms around my neck. I stand there stunned for a second
before I wrap my arms around her. She smells like roses and lemons.
“It’s nice to meet you in person,” she says, her face buried in
my neck. She’s on her tiptoes, and if that’s not the most adorable
fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“Nice to meet you too, ma chère.”
I hear her stomach grumble, and I chuckle.
“Have you eaten lunch?” I ask, reluctantly letting her go.
“Not yet. I was about to when you came in.”
“Let me take you out,” I say.
“That would be great. Let me get the keys and my purse.”
I have to stifle a groan as she leans over her desk and reaches
into her bottom drawer. Her plump ass is begging to be in my big
hands. She straightens, and I avert my gaze like a gentleman.
 “What would you like for lunch?” I ask. Anything to keep from
throwing her down on her desk and taking her like a savage.
“Oh, I’m easy… I mean anything is fine. Whatever you want.”
“Belle Nuit,” I blurt out. It’s one of the fancier restaurants in
Baton Rouge, and it happens to be right down the street and open
for lunch. She smiles.
“Have you ever eaten there?” she asks as we walk toward the
door.
“No. Am I dressed okay for it?” I ask, looking down at my work
clothes. They have seen better days, but I only had consults today,
so they are relatively clean.
“Yes, of course. You’re in for a treat. That’s my dad’s
restaurant.”
“Named after you?” I say as the name of the place dawns on
me.
“Yep. He opened it right after I was born. He’s currently working
in New Orleans on Annika, named after my mom. It’ll open soon. We
can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No. It’s totally fine. I’ve always wanted to eat there.”
Outside, she locks the door and takes my hand as we cross the
street. I look down at her tiny, hot-pinked tipped fingers nestled in
my larger hand. It looks and feels so fucking right. I let her drag me
down the sidewalk to the restaurant. I open the door for her, and we
stand at the hostess stand.
“Belle!” a girl shouts, pulling Belle into a hug.
“Hey Camille.”
“Did you make a reservation? I didn’t see you on the books.”
“No. I was hoping you had a table. Camille, this is Kent. Kent,
my cousin, Camille.”
“I do, but your Dad is here today. He’s on the warpath. You and
your beau may want to go elsewhere.” I guess there is no time for
pleasantries.
“Oh no. What happened?” she asks Camille before turning to
me. I also notice that she doesn’t correct her about me being her
beau. “It would have to be huge to take him away from Annika’s.”
“Oh, it was. Jacques quit this morning.”
 “What? Jacques is the executive chef.” I love that she’s bringing
me into the conversation.
“It gets worse,” Camille says, leading us to a half-circle booth in
the corner of the room.
“He went to Chez Henri’s.”
“Oh, no. They’re rivals,” she says to me. All I can do is nod.
“Here’s your menu. I’ve got people at the door. Nice to meet
you, Kent.”
“You too, Camille.”
“Bucky?” a male asks, coming up to our time.
“Paul! It’s so nice to see you again. I didn’t know you still
worked here. I thought you were going to medical school.”
“I am, but I don’t have classes this summer. Your dad gave me
my old job back. Who’s this?” the kid asks, looking butthurt.
“This is Kent, my…”
“Man,” I supply, extending my hand to him.
“Oh, wow. Really?” he asks, shaking my hand.
“Yes,” Belle says wistfully.
“He knows all about the vow?”
“Shut up, Paul. We’re ready to order.”
“He doesn’t know, Bucky?”
“I’ll have the steak, medium rare, loaded baked potato, and
Cesar salad. A Coke would be fine.”
“I’ll have the same, except I want a house salad with blue
cheese and a Diet Coke.”
“I have a question,” I tell her as soon as Paul leaves the table.
“About the vow?” she asks, looking down at her hands in her
lap. I reach over and place my hand over both of hers.
“No. you don’t have to tell me anything about that if you don’t
want to. Why does he call you Bucky?”
“Oh,” she says, giggling. “Paul is the sheriff of Pine Grove’s
youngest son. We grew up together. My two front teeth were too big
for my head for the longest time. I had buck teeth, and that boy
never let me forget it.” She’s still laughing.
“I see,” I say, chuckling.
 “I should tell you about the vow,” she says, still looking at me.
Her blue-green eyes are very vivid right now.
“Only if you want to,” I say, even though I’m dying to know. I
also hate that Paul knows her secret vow, and I don’t. It doesn’t sit
right with me. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“I vowed, to myself, that I would only have sex with the man
who would be my husband.” There’s no way on God’s green Earth
that this girl is a virgin. None. It’s not possible. “That’s not a
dealbreaker, is it? Most guys don’t like that I won’t sleep with them,
so I just avoid them all together, not that I think that we’re dating or
anything that will lead to sex.” She’s adorable when she babbles.
“Take a breath, Belle,” I say, taking her hands and pulling her
closer to me in the booth. “Let’s get one thing straight; I’m a man. If
you told me you were never having sex, I’d still want to be with you.
I’d respect your wishes. But this just goes to show me that you will
one day be my wife.” Her eyes widen as I lean closer to her, my
mouth against her ear. “Besides, I can give you pleasure in a million
different ways without ever taking your cherry. You know that, don’t
you?” I feel her shake her head no. “You will.”
Chapter Six
 Belle

What the hell just happened? My entire body feels like it’s on fire. I
somehow manage to eat my lunch. As soon as we are almost done,
my dad saunters out of the kitchen and comes right toward us. I
scoot out of the booth and hug him.
“Hello, Belly,” he says, making me cringe. He’s not saying it to
be mean. He’s always called me that, but now that I have a gut, it
hurts a bit. He doesn’t seem to notice my hurt or my belly, to be fair.
“Hi, Papa!”
“Introduce me to your young man,” he says as Kent stands.
“Papa, this is Kent Beaufoy. Kent, my dad, Kellen Fisher.”
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Kent says, shaking his hand.
“What are you intentions with my daughter?” Papa asks, and to
his credit, Kent doesn’t balk at such an old-fashioned question.
“I have only the best intentions with Belle, but I think I should
discuss those with her first,” he says, and my dad nods.
“I like you. You should come to dinner at our house on Sunday.”
“I’d like that, but I have five sisters that I am responsible for.”
“The more, the merrier. My nephews will be there as well. Our
numbers will round out well.”
“Okay, we’ll be there,” I say, wanting to do anything to get
closer to this girl.
“I’ll take care of your check,” he says, grabbing it from the
table. “See you Sunday,” he says, hugging Belle again before leaving.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. I leave thirty dollars
on the table for a tip.
“Let me walk you back to work,” he says. I immediately put my
hand in his. I love that I feel safe enough with him to do that. We
walk across the street and back toward the office. We are about two
seconds from the door when he stops at his truck. “Hang on,” he
says, swinging around to step down the curb and on the pavement.
He unlocks the door and reaches above the visor.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Medical insurance correction form, my secondary reason for
coming into the office today,” he says, handing it to me.
“What was the first?” I ask, licking my lips. He stares at my lips,
and I shiver in anticipation.
“You,” he says, pulling me closer to him.
“Me?” I squeak.
“Yes. I have thought of nothing but you all fucking weekend,” he
says, lowering his head to mine. Our lips meet. This must be what
Heaven is like. One kiss will never, ever be enough. I wrap my arms
around his neck and moan. My mouth opens, and his tongue sweeps
inside, dancing with mine. I moan softly and press my tits against
his chest. I get lost in the kiss until an asshole shoulder-checks him.
I am thrust forward. He almost knocks me down, but thankfully,
Kent has a firm hold on me.
“What the fuck, man?” he asks, turning to the asshat. “Barry?
What the fuck is your problem?”
“I see you have no problem making out with this loser in the
street, do you?” he asks me. His face is flushed with anger. Kent
looks like he’s about two seconds from flattening this motherfucker,
boss’s son or not.
“Excuse me?” I ask, my fists clenched at my sides.
“You won’t go out with me, but you’ll go out with him?”
“I was trying to let you down gently. I’ve been with Kent for
over six months now,” I lie. Kent wraps his arm around my shoulder
and pulls me close.
“What?” he asks.
“Sorry. I guess I should have told you,” I reply.
“But I told her it wasn’t anyone’s business,” Kent says, backing
me up.
“Of course. I have things to do,” he says sullenly before
unlocking the office.
“So, I’m not usually a liar,” I begin.
“But he creeped you the fuck out, didn’t he?”
 “Yep. Since day one.”
“I’ve lost track of how many receptionists we’ve lost because of
him. Dana was the first one to tell him to fuck off.”
“I bet that burned his butt when she married his dad.”
“I’m sure it did. Now, where were we?” he asks.
“Hmmm… I think we we’re right about here,” I say, turning my
face up to his. He leans down and kisses me again.
“Can I take you out for dinner?” he asks when he finally
releases me. I can feel his thick, hard cock pressing against me
through his jeans.
“Yes,” I murmur.
“I’ll pick you up at seven. Text me your address.”
“Okay, I will. Umm… that was my first kiss and my second.”
“Fuck, baby girl. You are so fucking sexy; I just don’t know how
that’s fucking possible.”
“I never wanted anyone to kiss me before. It was a non-issue,
but I think I could get addicted to yours.”
“Could you?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“Oh, yeah. You’ve got me rethinking that vow I made.”
Pulling me close to him, he wraps his arms around me. I moan
when his hands touch my ass. “We’re keeping that vow, baby girl.
We’ll keep it until you beg me to fuck you. Until you beg me to breed
you. Until you beg me to make you my wife. It’s very, very simple.
Belle.
“Okay,” I murmur. “But don’t get mad at me if I wear you down
first. I know what I want, and what I want is you and this,” I say,
running my fingers over his cock. He groans. “You won’t keep it from
me, will you, big boy?”
“Fuck, that’s not playing fair.”
“Nothing’s fair in love or war… or something like that.”
“All you are succeeding in doing is making me want to drag you
down the aisle right fucking now.”
“I’m not stopping you. Besides, marriages, until about a two
hundred years ago, were based upon way less than this.”
“That’s true,” he says, shuddering under my touch. I’m still
rubbing his thick cock in the middle of the sidewalk in broad
daylight. I want him to lose control and come right now because of
me.
I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my
entire life. I want to drop to my knees, right here in front of God and
all of Baton Rouge, and take his thick length into my mouth and
suck him off until he comes down my throat. I won’t even care who
sees me servicing my man.
Man, my dirty thoughts are out of control.
Chapter Seven
 Kent

How the fuck did I get so lucky? I’m ready to fuck Belle six ways to
Sunday. Her little hands on my denim-covered cock is too much. It’s
true that I haven’t been with an in a while, but I’m a grown man.
Coming in my pants at the mere touch of this girl is unacceptable. I
force myself to step back from her. She whimpers, and I want
nothing more than to drag her back to my truck, speed away from
here, and then tie her to my bed for hours. I lie to myself that hours
should be plenty of time to sate us when I know fifty years wouldn’t
be enough...
“I’ll see you at seven,” I tell her.
“I can’t wait that long. Pick me up here at five.” I groan. I love
the fact that she wants me. Our levels of desperation for the other
matches.
“I’ll be here,” I say, chuckling.
“You better be. You got my panties all messy and only you can
fix it.”
“Fix what?” I ask, needing her to say the damn words.
“The ache,” she whispers. I step closer to her again; the
physical distance between us is too much right now. It truly feels like
we are the only two people in the fucking world right now.
“Does your little pussy ache, Belle?”
“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding up and down. Her big blue eyes
are pleading with me to do something. I look up and down the
street. As much as I want to help her, I can’t do it in broad daylight
in the middle of downtown Baton Rouge. I can’t.
“Go get your things and take the rest of the day off,” I say
through clenched teeth.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
 “New Orleans?” she asks excitedly. She’s fucking gorgeous. I
can’t stop staring at her. I want those thick curves under me. I want
to make her scream my name. Over and over again. I want her
knocked up and tied to me for life. Longer even.
“Yes. I’ll bring you to work in the morning.” I want her in my
space. I want her scent on my sheets, in my house. I don’t think I’ll
be able to help her keep her vow, I want her too badly, but she’ll be
my wife, so there’s that.
“Okay,” she says, turning around to walk toward the door. She
yanks the door open and flits inside.
A few minutes later, she comes back out. Her grin is infectious.
Once again, I am struck by her beauty. She stops in front of me and
licks her lips. My knees just about buckle at the thought of them
wrapped around my hard cock as I fuck her throat, making her
choke on me. Damn it. I’ve got to get her alone.
“Ready?”
“Yes. I also scanned and emailed your insurance paperwork to
the company, so that’s all good.”
“Thank you,” I say, opening my work truck's passenger door and
helping her into it. My hands linger on her hips.

The hour-ish-long drive home is full of chatter. Her nervous chatter, I

imagine. I chuckle as she just keeps talking and talking. I can’t get a
word in edgewise, but that’s okay. I like hearing her talk. She’s
talking about a sketch she drew of a bathing suit and how proud of
it she is. She talks about how she’d be size inclusive with her
fashion, and I know my sisters would appreciate something like that.
We arrive at the house. It’s the middle of the day, so we are
alone. I start to give her a tour.
“It’s not much, but we make do.”
“And all your sisters still live here?”
“Yes. That’s not weird is it?”
 “No. Not at all. It’s expensive out there. I was just wondering
how many bedrooms you have.”
“Five proper ones. I turned the den into my youngest sister’s
room.” The one-story bungalow-style house is deceptively bigger on
the inside than it looks on the outside. There’s a detached garage
outside that I use for storage. There’s no attic, basement, or
crawlspace.
“She’s the sixteen year old?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised that she remembered. That was ninety
texts ago or more.
“And where’s your room?”
“Last door on the left,” I say, pointing down the hallway.
She takes off down the hall, and I follow like a puppy dog. As
crazy as it is, I know I’ll follow this girl to the ends of the Earth. I
cringe when I get into the bedroom. The bed is unmade, but at least
they are clean sheets; I changed them on Sunday. There is a pile of
dirty clothes outside the bathroom door. Belle doesn’t seem to
notice. She’s kicked her heels off and is in the process of shimmying
her skirt off. She’s got her blouse unbuttoned too. I groan as her
huge tits, currently and cruelly hidden from me by lace, come into
view.
“Am I going to fast?” she asks.
“No. I’m just admiring the view.”
“Come over here and admire it,” she says as she pulls her shirt
off. She’s standing in front of me in just her bra and panties. They
don’t match, but that's okay. She reaches behind her and opens her
bra, dropping it on the floor. When her panties are off, she comes
toward me. My eyes roam down her body. She is utter perfection.
Her eyes are bright; her cheeks are flushed. Her waist is flared, and
her hips wide. There is a neatly trimmed patch of slightly darker hair
than that of her hair covering the top of her juicy pussy. She’s got
those fat pussy lips that I want my mouth on more than I want my
next breath. “I think you are overdressed, Kent.” Her voice is sultry
and reminds me of pure temptation.
She reaches me and pulls my work shirt up and over my head.
She moans as her tiny fingers roam over my muscles. I kick out of
my work boots as she works my belt. My pants, boxers, and socks
join the discard pile quickly. My cock is hard and already leaking
precum. Her hands wrap around my length, and she pumps me up
and down. I push her hands away because I don’t want this over
before I get a chance to worship her.
Chapter Eight
 Belle

Holy shit! I have to clench my thighs together as I stare down at

him. His cock is huge, just like the rest of him. My mouth is watering
at the thought of that behemoth being inside me. He can have any
hole he wants. They all belong to him. My mind immediately
wanders to him shoving me down and slamming into me, despite me
saying no. In my mind, he’s a savage animal who takes what he
wants and gives me what I need with his brutal thrusts. I feel my
pussy flood, and I let out a little moan. His cock is hard in my hand,
but I want it inside me. That vow I made when I was younger was
just to keep other guys away from me. As crazy as it seems, I know
I was waiting for Kent.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks with his hands on my
hips. He’s so big, he could do whatever he wants to me, and I’d love
it.
“Hmm?” I ask, looking up from his gorgeous cock to his face.
He’s smirking at me like he already knows what I was thinking
about, but he wants me to tell him.
“Tell me, baby girl. Tell me, what’s going on in that head of
yours?”
“All kinds of things I’m sure you don’t want to know.”
“Try me,” he says as he moves his hands up so that are now
over my thick belly. Normally, I think I’d be embarrassed, but there’s
something about holding this man’s hard cock in my hand that
makes all that self-consciousness go away. Me, chubby Belle Fisher,
made this man hard. He wants me, and he’s totally going to get me.
“I want you inside me,” I whisper. He groans and walks me
toward his bed. When the back of my legs hit the bed, I drop down
on it. I drop my hands from his cock. The steely warmth of him is
immediately missed.
 “You want me to be the first, the last, the only man inside your
pussy?”
“Yes,” I say in awe of him. His voice is strained. It’s like he’s
holding on to his last bit of sanity.
“Fuck, baby girl. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“I have some idea,” I say, putting my hand back on his cock. It’s
in my face now, and I can see drops of cum across the thick head.
Licking my lips, I lean forward just a little and swipe my tongue
across him, getting every drop that’s there, but more just comes
bubbling up. He groans and puts his hands in my hair as I take more
of his length into my mouth. There’s no way in hell it’s all fitting, but
I’m going to give it my all.
“Belle,” he rasps but doesn’t say anything else. I take that as an
encouragement to keep going. I’ve never done this before, and I’m
sure he’s just humoring me, but I want to please him. I want him to
want me so freaking badly that he’ll never leave me.
Eventually, he pulls me off of him and drops to his knees in
front of me. He roughly grips my thighs and pushes them apart. He
groans.
“ Is something wrong?” I ask, panicking. No one has ever seen
me like this.
“What? No, God. No. You’re so fucking wet for me. This is all for
me, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I whimper as he presses his nose into me and inhales
deeply.
“Perfection.” I squeal in delight when his tongue hits my clit. He
licks me up and down before adding one of his thick fingers into me.
“So tight.” His growl goes all through me. “Need you to come before
I take you.”
“What happened to making me beg,” I moan. Not that I mind
this change, but I was definitely about to beg the shit out of him.
“Fuck that, baby girl. You don’t have to beg me for a goddamn
thing. You want me, you’ve got me.”
“I want you,” I affirm.
“Then come for me so we can both get what we need,” he
demands, shoving another finger into me. He curls them against that
Another random document with
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 Some time after this, he married; and his father then set him up in
a brewery by himself, and gave him all that was necessary to begin
trade with.
His success, however, was just what might have been expected.
He did not like to give himself trouble; and his beer was so bad, that
nobody would buy it. In short, he lost all his customers, and ran into
debt; so that every thing he had was taken away to pay his creditors.
The kind father once more received his son, with his wife and
family, into his own house; and instead of being angry, he tried to
console him for his misfortunes, by telling him, that as long as he
had a shilling in the world he should share it with him; and that, by
industry and frugality, they might yet do very well. One would have
thought that such great kindness, and the distresses he had brought
upon himself, would have had some effect on the mind of young
Maddox; and indeed they had: for a short time, he went on pretty
well, but he soon relapsed into his former habits of indolence. As
long, however, as his father lived, he did not know what it was to
want. It is true, he was accustomed to lie in bed till noon, and then to
doze in an arm chair the greatest part of the day. But his father was
always up before the dawn, and continued to attend to the concerns
of his farm till after the sun was set; for he found that much additional
industry was required, to enable him to support such a large
increase to his household. Harry at length lost his excellent parent,
and had the misfortune, not long after, to bury his wife.
Charles. Ah, poor Maddox! How badly off he must have been then,
grandpapa!
Mr. Mansfield. He was, indeed, my dear. All good management
was at an end, both in the house and in the fields. He took no care of
his children himself, nor did he provide any body to look after them
for him. His sons, in consequence of this neglect, grew up very wild
young men. They were always in company with the most worthless
fellows in the neighbourhood; and at last one of them ran away to
sea, and never was heard of more. The youngest girl fell into an ill
state of health, and perished from want of care and nursing. The
eldest daughter, mother to the little Peggy whom you saw at the
cottage, was the only one of the children that grew up to be a
comfort to herself, or to her family. She married at a very early age,
but, unfortunately for Peggy, died some time ago.
Arthur. So poor Peggy has no mother! What a sad thing for her!
Mr. Mansfield. She has no father neither, my dear: but we will talk
more of her by and by, if I have not tired you with my long story.
Charles. Oh, you need not be afraid of tiring us, grandpapa. We
like to hear you very much, and I want to know how Maddox went on
with his farm.
Mr. Mansfield. Why, he left his farm to take care of itself; and when
the men went to him for directions, he used to tell them to begone
about their business, and do as they would, for he should not trouble
himself about the matter. So perhaps one wanted to sow beans,
when another wanted to sow corn; and then they would get into a
quarrel, and not work at all. By this means, the seed was never put
into his fields till after it had begun to grow up in all the country
round: and as he took no care to keep his land clean, it was always
choked with weeds; and, in all the time he was a farmer, he had not
a single good crop. His fences too were left in the most ruinous
state, and his neighbour’s cattle used to get into his fields through
the gaps in the hedges, and do much mischief among his corn and
hay. Then sometimes his own beasts trespassed in the same
manner upon the grounds of other people, and he was obliged to
pay for the damage they did; and if they were sent to the pound, it
was some expense to him to redeem them.
Arthur. What do you mean, sir, by saying they were sent to the
pound?
Mr. Mansfield. A pound is a small spot inclosed with high rails, in
which cattle that go astray may be confined; and the person whose
office it is to keep the pound claims a certain fee when they are sent
for by the owner.
Maddox’s farm belonged to Mr. Ashley; and when the lease was
out, his landlord refused to grant him another. From the time of the
old man’s death, the rents had been very irregularly paid; and
besides, Mr. Ashley did not choose to let any part of his estate to a
man who suffered it to go to ruin.
Charles. Indeed, I think he was in the right. I should not like to
have my fields, that might be kept in nice order, like yours,
grandpapa, spoilt from want of proper care. But what became of
Maddox, then?
Mr. Mansfield. He hired a wretched cottage, and lived for some
time upon the little money he had by him. When that was gone, he
was actually reduced to beggary. He had scarcely a rag to cover
him, and could barely get food to keep him alive. I happened to hear
of his miserable situation, and I called on Mr. Ashley, to consult
about what could be done for him.
Arthur. And what did Mr. Ashley say?
Mr. Mansfield. He said he was sorry to hear of his distress; and
would be glad to relieve him, if it were in his power. “But,” he added,
“what can I do? It is not proper to maintain a strong, hearty man, like
Maddox, in idleness. He learned so little when he was young, that I
know he can hardly read or write; therefore, I cannot make him my
steward. If I hire him as a labourer, he will not do a day’s work in the
year; and I am sure, for the pains he would take, my deer might all
be lost, or stolen, if I made him deer-keeper.” Soon after this
conversation, however, Mr. Ashley inclosed a part of his park, for
keeping pheasants, and then he resolved to intrust the care of them
to Harry Maddox, and ordered that he should take little Peggy to live
with him; for the poor girl just before had had the misfortune to lose
both her parents.
Charles. Oh, you promised just now to tell us something about
Peggy.
Mr. Mansfield. I have only to say, that her character is the very
reverse of her grandfather’s. She is a notable, active girl, and does a
wonderful deal for her age. As Mr. Maddox still continues the same,
the birds would be sadly neglected, if it were not for her care. Mr.
Ashley puts her to school, where she learns to work: and I believe
she keeps both her own and the old man’s clothes in very tolerable
order. The cottage, too, is neat and clean, though there is no one to
do any thing but herself.
“I thought she was a nice girl,” said Charles. “She was at work,
you know, Arthur, yesterday afternoon, when we went there.”
“Yes,” replied Arthur, “and the old man was fast asleep. What a
contrast between them!”
“You see,” rejoined Mr. Mansfield, “though she is but a child, in
how respectable a light her industry makes her appear. She acquires
the esteem of all who know her, and she has the satisfaction of
feeling that she does not live in vain. As for poor old Maddox, I don’t
know from what source his satisfactions can arise. The review of his
past life can afford him no comfort; and if he looks forward to the
close of his present existence, he must be shocked at the account to
which he will then be called, for duties neglected, talents
misemployed, and a family ruined, through his want of care.”
Arthur. Well, I have often been told that I ought to be a good boy,
and mind my lessons; but I did not know before, that idleness could
lead to so much mischief. I always thought that, when I was a man, I
should attend to my business as a matter of course.
Mr. Mansfield. Ah, my dear child, you are much mistaken, if you
suppose that you will be able to get the better of your faults, only by
growing older. Now is the time for you to acquire good habits of all
sorts; and if you neglect to do so, depend upon it, that when you
become a man, you will find the task only rendered a great deal
more difficult, from having been so long delayed.
“Very true, my dear,” said Mrs. Mansfield. “Besides, little folks
should consider, that it is not their future advantage alone which
should lead them to take pains with their studies—it is one of the
absolute duties of their infant state. God Almighty did not mean that
any of us should be idle at any time; and a child who is idle when he
ought to be at his book, as much transgresses the will of God, as a
man who neglects his trade, or a woman who takes no care of her
family.”
 “I think,” said Mr. Mansfield, starting up as he looked at his watch,
“that whilst I have been prating away in favour of industry, I seem to
have forgotten that I have a thousand concerns to attend to. But I will
no longer act in a way so contrary to my precepts. And so good
morning to you, I am off till dinner-time.”
Page 127.
 Chap. XIII.

A pleasant Ride.
London. Published by W. Darton Jun. Oct. 1815.
 CHAPTER XIII.
A pleasant Ride.

The story of Maddox had a very good effect upon the minds of the
young Bensons. They immediately brought out their books, and
spent some time in reading and learning their lessons. Afterwards
Mrs. Mansfield heard them the catechism, and explained to them
some parts of it which they did not clearly understand.
When Mr. Mansfield came in to dinner, he said that he should be
obliged in the afternoon to go upon business to a place about ten
miles off; and he asked his wife, if she would like to accompany him
in their one-horse chaise.
“Thank you, my dear,” returned Mrs. Mansfield; “but it would give
me more pleasure if you would take the boys. I know they would
enjoy a ride, and they have been very good this morning.”
“Have they so?” said the obliging grandpapa. “Why then, if you will
give up your place, I will take them very willingly. I like the company
of good children.”
The party thus settled, dinner was quickly dispatched; the chaise
stood ready at the door, and the boys jumped into it with a look of
pleasure on their countenances that can more easily be fancied than
described.
Part of the road they were to travel lay through a large forest. Here
they had an opportunity of seeing a variety of trees; and Mr.
Mansfield answered with the greatest readiness every question they
put to him concerning them.
“What tree is that, grandpapa?” inquired Charles, pointing to one
that grew near the road; “the one, I mean, that has such an amazing
large trunk, and the branches of it spread so wide all round?”
 Mr. Mansfield. It is an oak, my dear; the most valuable timber tree
that grows.
Arthur. What are timber trees?
Mr. Mansfield. Trees that are used in building houses and ships;
they are principally oaks, elms, and ash-trees.
Arthur. And you say that the oak is the most valuable of them all;
pray what makes it so?
Mr. Mansfield. The wood is very hard, and tough; not apt to
splinter, nor liable to be eaten by worms; and as it remains sound for
a great while when under water, it answers very well for building
ships, or for piles, or bridges; in short, for any thing that requires
strength and durability.
They now came to a part of the forest where many large oaks had
been recently felled. Leafless, and stript of all, but the stumps of the
larger branches, they lay at length upon the ground, and made a
striking contrast to the green and flourishing trees that grew around.
Charles inquired, what made them look so white? Mr. Mansfield
replied, that they had been stript of their bark, or outer skin, which
was used by the tanner, in the process of manufacturing leather.
“Indeed,” added he, “every part of the oak may be employed in
tanning; the saw-dust, the leaves, all have a binding quality, that, in
process of time, will harden the raw hide of beasts into leather.”
“Acorns grow upon oaks, don’t they, sir?” said Charles.
“To be sure they do,” answered Arthur. “I have seen them in
abundance since we have been riding. Are they good to eat,
grandpapa?”
Mr. Mansfield. You would find them bitter and disagreeable, but
pigs and deer fatten upon them. Did you ever take notice of the
cups?
As he said this, he broke off a bough from a tree which they were
passing, and gave it to the boys to examine.
 “Would you suppose,” asked he, “that these large oaks, that cover
so much ground, and form the glory of the forest, all sprung from
acorns no larger than these?”
“It is very wonderful,” said Arthur. “Pray, sir, are they long
growing?”
Mr. Mansfield. An oak seldom comes to perfection in less than two
hundred years, and they will sometimes live four or five hundred. Our
English oaks are particularly esteemed, but they are much fewer in
number than they once were. In ancient times, before there were so
many inhabitants, and when cultivation was little attended to, almost
the whole island was but one forest. It has been cleared by degrees,
however, and converted into corn and pasture land; and we have
only now a few forests of any size. In consequence of this, oak
timber is much scarcer than it used to be. If you go into old houses,
that were built two or three centuries ago, you will see nothing but
oaken floors and oaken wainscots. Now the case is altered, and
people are obliged to be contented with wood of a very inferior
quality. Deal, for instance, is much used for the purposes I have
mentioned.
Charles. Are there any deal trees in this forest, grandpapa?
Mr. Mansfield. There are no such things as deal trees, Charles. It
is the wood of the fir, which, when cut up into timber, is called deal.
By and by, I will point out to you a plantation of firs, of which there
are several different species. They are all ever-greens; that is, they
do not lose their leaves in winter. The Scotch fir is the most hardy,
and thrives well on the bleak mountains of the north. It may likewise
be reckoned the most useful; for it supplies us with the best deal for
making masts of ships, floors, wainscots, tables, boxes, and other
things. The trunk and branches afford excellent pitch and tar. The
roots, when divided into small splinters, are sometimes burnt by poor
people instead of candles. The outer bark is used, as well as that of
the oak, in tanning leather; and I have heard that there is a place in
Scotland where they make ropes of the inner bark; and that in some
of the northern countries of Europe, in times of scarcity, they grind it,
and mix it with their flour when they make bread.
 Arthur. I see another large tree, grandpapa, but it does not look
like the oak.
Mr. Mansfield. ’Tis a beech, a very useful tree to the cabinet-
maker. Its branches, you observe, slope gently downwards, instead
of growing straight out, and it is more full of leaf than the oak. That
tree on the left is an ash. Its foliage is very light. The wood is much
used for making implements of husbandry, particularly hop-poles.
“And there is a fine stately tree!” observed Charles; “is it another
beech?”
Mr. Mansfield. No, Charles, that is an elm; a timber tree of great
value. You may often see them in hedgerows, and they are
frequently planted in rows to make avenues in parks. The inner part
of the wood is almost as solid and heavy as iron; and is therefore
much used in mill-work, and to make axle-trees, keels of boats,
chairs, and coffins.
“Pray, pray,” interrupted Arthur, “look at that tree a little way off,
how the leaves flutter with the wind! They are in constant motion; but
yet it is very calm, and all the other trees are still.”
“That tree,” replied Mr. Mansfield, “is called an aspen, or trembling
poplar. It is the nature of it to be in that constant agitation, whether
the wind is high or not.”
“What is done with the aspen?” inquired Charles.
Mr. Mansfield. The stem is bored for water-pipes, and is made into
milk-pails, clogs, and pattens.
The business which Mr. Mansfield had to transact, detained them
so long that it grew very dark as they were returning home; and the
little boys were surprised, in the midst of the gloom, to see a bright
shining speck upon the ground. “What is that, what is that,
grandpapa?” they exclaimed at the same instant. “It looks,” added
Charles, “as if one of the stars had fallen to the earth.” “And I see
another, and another,” said Arthur, laughing: “oh, what can they be?”
“They are glow-worms,” replied Mr. Mansfield; “and you may find
numbers of them, after dark, at this time of the year.”
 “They are very pretty,” said Arthur. “I should like to see one near.
Will you be so kind, sir, as to stop for a moment, and let me get out
and fetch one?”
Mr. Mansfield consented, and Arthur jumped out, and presently
returned in triumph with his prize. They then saw that the glow-worm
was a small insect, something bigger than a wood-louse; and that
the brightness proceeded from a part under the tail. The light it gave
was strong enough for them to see what time it was by their
grandfather’s watch, when held close to it.
“I have been trying, grandpapa,” said Arthur, after having sat still
for some time, with the glow-worm in his hand, “to find what it is that
occasions the light; but I cannot make it out.”
“I believe, Arthur,” said Mr. Mansfield, smiling, “that this wonderful
little insect has puzzled philosophers much wiser than you. I never
heard its luminous appearance explained in a very satisfactory
manner; and not at all in a way that you would understand.”
Charles. There is no difficulty in finding out glow-worms, let it be
ever so dark.
Mr. Mansfield. Your observation, my dear, brings to my mind a
pretty fable I once read about a glow-worm; and the moral of it is,
that we ought not to boast of any external advantages we may
possess, or despise those who happen to be without them; since the
very things we are proud of, often bring down misfortunes upon us.
Arthur. But what was the fable, grandpapa? In my book they
always put the fable first; but you have begun with the moral.
Mr. Mansfield. “A glow-worm, vain of her beauty, began to upbraid
a poor humble wood-louse, that lay beside her. ‘Dost not thou admire
my splendid tail,’ said she, ‘that sends forth a light almost as glorious
as the stars? Insignificant reptile that thou art! wonder at thy
boldness, in venturing so near to one of my brilliant appearance.
What admiration wilt thou acquire, or when wilt thou become the
pride and glory of the night?’
“The wood-louse replied with great humility, ‘Happy in myself, I do
not wish to draw the attention of others; and if I have not thy beauty
to boast of, I am at least without thy pride.’
“A nightingale, who was singing in a neighbouring bush, attracted
by the light of the glow-worm, flew to the spot where she lay, and
seizing the vain insect in her beak, carried it away to feast her family.
The wood-louse, concealed in darkness, escaped the enemy’s
notice.”
 CHAPTER XIV.
Bees.

The next morning, on the little boys getting up, they were surprised
at hearing a tinkling sound just under their windows. They were
induced, as soon as they were ready, to run down into the garden, to
see what was going forward.
Mrs. Mansfield was the person who occasioned the noise, by
striking the lid of a tin saucepan with a large key.
“Oh, grandmamma, what are you about?” exclaimed Arthur,
laughing. “I should have taken you for my little sister Kate, amusing
herself by making, what she would call, a pretty noise.”
“I do it, my dear, to prevent the bees from going away,” replied
Mrs. Mansfield. “Don’t you see what swarms are flying about?”
“Yes,” returned Arthur. “But what have they to do with the key and
the saucepan lid?”
Page 142.
 Chap. XIV.

The Bees.
London. Published by W. Darton Junʳ. Oct. 1ˢᵗ. 1815.
 “All these,” said Mrs. Mansfield, “are young bees, that have been
hatched this summer; and now that they are grown up, the hive is
too small to contain them. They therefore have left it; and are going
to seek another place for themselves; and it is generally supposed
that a tinkling noise will keep them from going to a distance; though,
whether it has any effect or not, I cannot pretend to determine.”
By this time the bees had settled in a cluster on the branch of a
tree, where they all hung together in one great mass. Old Ralph then
took an empty hive, and shook them into it, having previously
covered his hands and face, that he might not be stung.
“How do bees make honey, grandmamma?” inquired Charles.
Mrs. Mansfield. By means of their long trunks they suck up the
sweetness that is in the cups of flowers.
Charles. And is that honey?
Mrs. Mansfield. Not until it has been further prepared by the bees,
who swallow it, and then throw it up again, after having digested it in
their stomachs.
Charles. Bees make wax too, do not they?
Mrs. Mansfield. Yes: come to this bed of flowers, and you will see
them at work.
“I observe,” said Arthur, after having watched them attentively for
some time, “that they every moment stroke their legs over one
another; is that of any use?”
Mrs. Mansfield. It is in order to put the yellow dust, which they
collect from the flowers, and of which the wax is made, upon their
hinder thighs: a few short hairs on them form a kind of basket, on
purpose to receive it. When they have collected as much as they can
carry, they fly back to the hive to deposit it there.
Arthur. And what use do they make of it, grandmamma?
Mrs. Mansfield. After having kneaded and properly prepared it,
they make it into the honey-comb, or little cells which contain the
honey; and when the cells are full, the bees stop them up with a little
more wax, to preserve it as food for the winter.
Arthur. Then how do we get it?
Mrs. Mansfield. The hive is held over brimstone, which kills the
bees, and then we take out the honey-combs. Some people adopt a
method of taking the honey without destroying the bees; but I do not
know whether that is less cruel in the end; for the poor things are
then frequently starved in the winter, for want of their proper food.
Arthur. Have not I heard something about a queen-bee?
Mrs. Mansfield. Very probably you have. There is a queen to every
hive; and she is larger than the rest. She very seldom comes abroad,
and whenever she does, she is attended by a number of her
subjects. They are so much attached to her, that, if she dies, they
make a mournful humming, and unless another queen be given to
them, will at last pine away, and die too.
“How very surprising!” said Charles. “Who would have thought that
such little insects could show so much attachment to each other?”
Mrs. Mansfield. The natural history of the bee is full of wonders,
my dear. Besides the queen, there are two different sorts, the drones
and the working bees.
The drones seldom leave the hive, and never assist to procure
honey. When the time comes for making up their winter stores, they
are, therefore, all killed by the working bees as useless members of
society. As they are without stings, they are unable to defend
themselves. The working bees compose the most numerous body of
the state. They have the care of the hive, collect wax and honey from
the flowers, make the wax into combs, feed the young, keep the hive
clean, turn out all strangers, and employ themselves in promoting
the general good.
Arthur. They are very industrious, indeed, Charles! Do you
recollect Dr. Watts’s little hymn about the Busy Bee?
Charles. Yes, brother; I was just thinking of it.
 Mrs. Mansfield. Repeat it then will you, my love? After the account
I have been giving you, we shall attend to it with particular pleasure.

Charles. How doth the little busy bee

Improve each shining hour!
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!

How skilfully she builds her cell!

How neat she spreads the wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes!

In work of labour, or of skill,

I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,

Let my first years be past;
That I may give, for every day,
A good account at last.
 CHAPTER XV.
An Evening Stroll.

As the weather was remarkably pleasant, Mrs. Mansfield proposed

having tea earlier than usual, that they might afterwards have time
for a walk; and the rest of the party approving the scheme, they set
off in high spirits, the moment that meal was concluded. Mrs.
Mansfield was not a very good walker, but she leaned upon her
husband’s arm, and enjoyed the fineness of the evening. It was not
their intention to go to any great distance from home; so when they
came to a stile, or the stump of a tree, she sat down to rest herself,
and take a view of the country; during which time, the little boys
amused themselves by running backwards and forwards, and would
frequently pick up some flower or curious little pebble, and bring it to
their grandpapa, to inquire its name and use. As they were
proceeding gently by the side of a large pond, they saw a great
number of birds skimming over the surface in all directions. In
answer to Arthur’s inquiries, Mr. Mansfield replied that they were
swallows, and that they were flying about in quest of food.
“What food,” asked Charles, “can they possibly expect to find
growing upon the pond?”
“Flies and insects,” answered his grandfather, “are the proper food
for swallows; and many of them constantly sport on the water.”
“And swallows,” said Mrs. Mansfield, “are thought to be of great
use, by destroying so many millions of them, which would otherwise
multiply so fast, as to be quite a nuisance to the world.”
Charles. Can they catch them as they fly?
Mrs. Mansfield. Yes, my dear. Their mouths are made large that
they may take in their prey the more easily; and indeed, every part of
the swallow is wonderfully adapted to its nature and manner of living.
 Arthur. How do you mean, grandmamma?
Mrs. Mansfield. As in pursuit of insects it is necessary for them to
be almost constantly on the wing, their bodies are very light and
small; and the wings being long in proportion, they fly with great
ease and swiftness. This is more particularly needful to them,
because they are birds of passage; that is, they go to different
countries according to the season of the year. They come over here
in large flocks about the middle of April; and in October they
assemble again in great numbers, and fly across the sea to some
warmer climate. They make their nests with clay, and line them with
feathers and soft grass, and build them chiefly a little way down the
tops of chimneys, or under the eaves of houses. As they have little
occasion to be upon the ground, their legs are short and ill adapted
for walking.
“Your observation, my dear,” said Mr. Mansfield, “that swallows are
formed in the best manner possible for their habits of life, is perfectly
just; but it should not be confined to them. The God of Nature has
equally adapted every other kind of bird, and, I may add, every
animal, to the state for which he designed it.”
Arthur. Has he, indeed, grandpapa! I wish you would tell me about
them, then. I should like you should give me an account of every
creature that lives.
Mr. Mansfield. Oh, my dear! I am much too ignorant of Natural
History to be able to do that. Indeed, I know very little of it; but the
more I read and the more I observe, the greater reason I see to
admire the wonderful goodness and wisdom of the Almighty.
At this instant, Charles, who had been running to a little distance,
returned with great speed, bringing with him, by the hinder leg, a
dead animal he had picked up, rather smaller than a common rat,
but broader in proportion to its length.
“What is this, what is this?” asked he.
“A mole,” replied Mrs. Mansfield, who saw it first.
“A mole!” repeated her husband: “Oh, bring it to us, then. This little
animal, Arthur, will serve as an instance of what I was saying; for no
creature can be more exactly suited to its mode of life.”
“How, sir?” inquired Arthur.
“In the first place,” returned Mr. Mansfield, “you should be informed
that the mole lives almost constantly under ground; as its food
consists of worms and little insects that it finds in the earth. It is
therefore necessary for it to be able to work its way through the
earth; and if you examine it well, you will find it admirably
constructed for that purpose.”
“Indeed,” said Arthur, “I see nothing very particular in it.”
Mr. Mansfield. Look at its fore-feet. They are broad, strong, and
short; not set straight from the body, but inclining a little sideways. By
means of this position, it is enabled, as it burrows its way, to cast off
the mould on each side, so as to make for itself a hollow passage in
the middle. Their breadth likewise serves the purpose of hands, to
form their nests, scoop out the earth, and seize their prey. The form
of the body is equally well contrived. The fore part is thick and
strong, so that it can dig its way with wonderful quickness, either to
pursue its prey or to escape from its enemies; whilst the hinder parts
being small and taper, enable it to pass easily through the loose
earth that the fore-feet had flung behind.
“It is of a clean black colour,” said Charles; “and the hair is short,
thick, and very soft.”
“True,” said Mr. Mansfield. “And the skin is so tough that it would
require a sharp knife to cut it. It is not therefore liable to be injured by
flints, or other stones that it may meet with in its passage under
ground. Now let me see which of you can find its eyes.”
Charles. The eyes, the eyes! grandpapa, this mole must be
without eyes!
Arthur. I would find them if I could, but it certainly has none.
Mr. Mansfield parted the hair, and pointed out two very small
specks. “The smallness of the eyes,” said he, “is to this animal a
peculiar happiness. Had they been larger, they would have been
liable to frequent injuries, from the mould falling into them; and of