“I—I don’t know, my boy. Would it, my dear?” she said, turning to my father.
“No, wife—no,” he said; “Harry was quite right to go. He foresaw what was coming, and how useless it was for me to try. The hardest part of it, my lad, is that I can’t go out of business an honest man and pay every one his due.”
“Don’t fret, dear,” said my mother; “you’ve done your best and given up everything. But tell me, Harry,” she cried, “what did my poor brother do? Had he no friend to help him?”
“Yes, mother.”
“And did he?”
“Yes, mother.”
“What! paid his debts?”
“Yes, dear mother.”
“God bless him!” said my mother fervently. “I wish I could take him by the hand. And how is your uncle now?”
“He was quite well when I left him to-day, mother.”