“I want to know who the boy is,” said Julius. “He called himself Reynolds, and said he lived with granny, but was not a son of Daniel’s or Timothy’s. He seemed about ten years old.”
“Reynolds? Then I know who he must be. Don’t you remember a pretty-looking girl we had in the nursery in Charlie’s time? His ‘Fan-fan’ he used to call her.”
“Ah, yes, I remember; she was a Reynolds, for both the little boys could be excited to fury if we assumed that she was a fox. You don’t mean that she went wrong?”
“Not till after she had left us, and seemed to be doing well in another place; but unfortunately she was allowed to have a holiday in the race week, and a day at the course seems to have done the mischief. Susan can tell you all about it, if you want to know. She was as broken-hearted as if Fanny had been her own child—much more than the old mother herself, I fear.”
“What has become of the girl?”
“Gone from bad to worse. Alas! I heard a report that she had been seen with some of the people who appear on the race-course with those gambling shooting-galleries, or something of that sort.”
“Ah! those miserable races! They are the bane of the country. I wish no one would go near them.”
“They are a very pleasant county gathering.”
“To you, mother, and such as you; but you could have your county meeting without doing quite so much harm. If Raymond would only withdraw his subscription.”
“It would be as much as his seat is worth! Those races are the one great event of Wil’sbro’ and Backsworth, the harvest of all the tradespeople. Besides, you know what is said of their expedience as far as horses are concerned.”