“Weren’t you glad?”
“Of course. It was very jolly at school; but school isn’t home, is it?”
“Of course not.”
“Father said I could go on reading with him, and it would brush up his classics, which had grown rusty since he turned merchant.”
“Wasn’t he always a merchant, then?”
“My father?” cried Cyril. “No, he was a captain in the army, and had to give up on account of his health. The doctors said he was dying. That was twelve years ago; but he doesn’t look like dying now, does he?”
“No, he looks wonderfully strong and well.”
“Yes. This place suited him and mother because it was so dry.”
“And then he took to being a merchant?”
“Yes; and ships off drugs, and minerals, and guano, and bark.”