"They have, Mister Churchouse, and they scutch well and can be wrought into textiles. But there's no temptation to make trial. I'm only thinking in a scientific spirit."
He swept up the fallen nettles for his bonfire.
"I've come for a few balls of the rough twine," said Mr. Churchouse.
"And welcome."
An unusual air of gloom sat on Mr. Best and the other was quick to observe it.
"All well, I hope?" he said.
"Not exactly. I'm rather under the weather; but I dare say it's my own fault."
"It often is," admitted Ernest; "but in my experience that doesn't make it any better. In fact, the most disagreeable sort of depression is that which we know we are responsible for ourselves. When other people annoy us, we have the tonic effect of righteous indignation; but not when we annoy ourselves and know ourselves to blame."
"I wouldn't go so far as to say it's all my own fault, however," answered Mr. Best. "It is and it isn't my fault. To be a father of children is your own fault in a manner of speaking; and yet to be a father is not any wrong, other things being as they should."
"On the contrary, it's part of the whole duty of man—other things being equal, as you say."