"He and Mr. Robert are watching the boom."
Another weary hour passed, when Clement Richardson came in; he was pale, haggard, and dripping with water.
"Lucy," he said, "I am ruined and Robert with me. All the money we had outside of our real estate was in those logs, and they have gone into the Atlantic, the mills with them, and it will take all our real estate, furniture, and the house over our heads to pay the money we've borrowed." In those days creditors made a clean sweep, took everything worth taking, and the wife's property was held for the husband's debts.
"It's a great misfortune, husband; but it might have been much worse."
"Worse, Lucy? How can a man lose more than all?"
"It would have been worse to lose health,—worse to lose our love for each other, if such a thing could be,—worse to have a wicked, disobedient, or deformed child; and I am sure it would be worse to lose character, which you won't if you have property enough left to pay all you owe. It would certainly have been worse had it come when we were past labor; and I'm sure we were happier before we moved into this house, and when you were working at your trade, than we have ever been since."
"But the children, Lucy. I see it all now as one sees everything when it is too late. We thought we had enough for them and us, and have taught them everything except how to take care of themselves."
"They will learn that. They are not too old to learn."
The property of the brothers, very valuable, was sold, and the proceeds divided among the creditors, who all relinquished voluntarily the interest on their demands. This left the brothers, after paying everything, one hundred and fifty dollars, as the remnant of a large property. David Montague was dead; but his son Andrew inherited not only his father's property, but his principles. One of the creditors, he bid off the old Richardson homestead, house, shop, and outbuildings. As soon as the business was settled, he offered Clement Richardson money to go into business again. The latter thanked him for the offer, but said he intended, as soon as he could find a place to work, to go back to his anvil.
"Clem," said Andrew Montague, "our fathers come here and cut the first trees together, and lived and died fast friends; you and I have grown up together, and been just as good friends. I know you are proud-spirited, and I love you all the better for it; but I beg of you, let me do this much. There is the old shop; nothing has been disturbed; and there are the tools your father began with, and those more modern ones he used in his latter days. Take it, rent free, and I'll bring you a fortnight's work to-morrow morning. I will let you have the house as soon as Coleman, whose family are sick, leaves it."