But her husband did not altogether like her "new notions;" he thought them harmless, indeed, "if she did not go too far," but he had no sympathy with them, and silenced her when she tried to share them with him. Not unkindly—Fred never was unkind.
Frank was about six years old, and little Fred about four, when events happened which broke up that little home over the brewery gate, and scattered the family far and wide.
First, Mrs. Rayburn's brother, growing overbold from long success, ventured all his own savings and all his sister's money in one great venture, and lost it. The poor woman had but a few pounds left in the world, and she took to her bed and very nearly died of the shock. Janet was so occupied with her that she failed to observe how uneasy and unhappy her husband seemed. Fred had indeed lost a good deal of money; his little capital was slipping through his fingers so fast that it was wonderful that he did not leave off his speculations, and keep what he had left. But this seems to be the last thing a man thinks of doing, if he has once taken to speculation; and the day came when he had to pay away the last of the money his father had left him.
But, though this was bad, there was worse to come. I do not understand these things well enough to tell you exactly what he did; but I know he made a reckless effort to regain what he had lost without having any capital to pay up if he failed. And he did fail, and found himself in a most miserable position. Not only did he owe money that he could not possibly pay, but, of course, the whole affair became generally known, and that meant ruin.
He was dismissed from his post, and Messrs. Hopper and Mason refused to employ him again even as a clerk: he just got a quarter's salary instead of a quarter's warning, and one week in which to pack up and turn out of the Gatehouse. And he had to go home—home! It was that no longer—and tell Janet, who knew as little about the impending misery as did poor little Frank and Fred. The children were playing in the parlour when their father rushed in, haggard and wretched.
"Where's your mother, Frank?"
"In grandma's room, I think."
"Run and tell her to come here to me. Take Fred with you, and go to the nursery, and stay there. Do you understand? Stay there."
For Frank, all unused to be spoken to thus by his good-tempered, pleasant father, was staring at him in silence.
"Yes, father; but, oh, you do look so! What ails you, father?"