"What does he want help for?" said Lizzie. "I don't suppose he has six letters a day to sort."
"Six too many, dear Liz, for a postmaster who does not read 'hand o' write,' as he calls it. And he gives money orders too; and nicely he'd manage that without me! Well, the other day Miles Murphy (you know him, Aymer, Smiley Miley, of Askinagap) came to the office to get money on an order from New Zealand—enough money to pay his passage out, and get him a small outfit. And he told me all about it. His cousin Tom, Big Tom of the Ferry, was the first to go; he went the year the disease came," (Guy meant the potato disease, but he had learnt from the cotters to call it "the disease" simply), "and the next year he sent enough to get out his wife and children; and now he's getting Miles out; and he sends such accounts of the wages out there that you'd be fairly surprised. He gets seven shillings! Think of that, Aymer! Three half-crowns, all but sixpence, every day. And he was nothing but a common labourer. A fellow who can do what Aymer can—or I either, when I stop growing—"
"Ay, if you're ever going to stop, you young giant," said sturdy Aymer.
"A fellow who can reap and mow, and thatch and plough, shear, and carpenter, and everything—would get ten shillings a day there as easy as tenpence here; and it was Miley said it!"
In spite of their sad hearts, there was a general laugh at the fine rich brogue in which Guy concluded his story. The young Egertons all had pleasant accents, thanks to their foreign mother and English father, and a softening touch of the Irish brogue, but in his excitement, Guy unconsciously gave Smiley Miley's voice as well as his words.
"If half of that is true, I wish I was there," said Aymer. "One would soon save enough to get you all out."
"And that is what we must all look to and work for," went on Guy. He was a tall, slight lad of sixteen now, with a handsome, refined face and a thoughtful expression. "We must lay our heads together, see how we can make and save a little money; and then one of us—you, Aymer, or I—go out, and get the rest out by degrees."
"Save money!" said Helen. "But how, Guy? I see no way to do that."
"If we only had a little capital—just a few pounds to buy sheep. Aymer, if we wrote to my father's people—"
"Put that out of your head!" Aymer interrupted him by saying, shortly. "I will go to the poorhouse sooner, and see you all there too. Take money from those who let my mother slave all her life because they didn't think her good enough for them! Never speak of it to me, Guy."