"Father, tell me what has befallen thee?"
"Nothing, my son, save that the Giver of all worldly goods has seen fit to take back a portion of mine. I, like many another in this town, am poorer by some thousands than I went to bed last night."
He sat down. I knew he loved his money, for it had been hardly earned. I had not thought he would have borne its loss so quietly.
"Father, never mind; it might have been worse."
"Of a surety. I should have lost everything I had in the world—save for—Where is the lad? What art thee standing outside for? Come in, John, and shut the door."
John obeyed, though without advancing. He was cold and wet. I wanted him to sit down by the fireside.
"Ay! do, lad," said my father, kindly.
John came.
I stood between the two—afraid to ask what they had undergone; but sure, from the old man's grave face, and the lad's bright one—flushed all over with that excitement of danger so delicious to the young—that the peril had not been small.
"Jael," cried my father, rousing himself, "give us some breakfast; the lad and me—we have had a hard night's work together."