Evidently his cheerful courage had been all that kept them going.
"Lost all we had in the great fire of '35," said he, thoughtfully. "I went to bed a rich man, but when I rose in the morning I had not enough to pay a week's board. Everything had been swept away."
"A merchant?" Trove inquired.
"A partner in the great Star Mill on East River," said the man. "I could have got a fortune for my share—at least a hundred thousand dollars—and I had worked hard for it."
"And were you not able to succeed again?"
"No," said the traveller, sadly, shaking his head. "If some time you have to lose all you possess. God grant you still have youth and a strong arm. I tried—that is all—I tried."
The boy looked up at him, his heart touched. The man was near sixty years of age; his face had deep lines in it; his voice the dull ring of loss, and failure, and small hope. The woman covered her face and began to sob.
"There, mother," said the man, touching her head; "we'd better forget. I'll never speak of that again—never. We're going to seek our fortune. Away in the great west we'll seek our fortune."
His effort to be cheerful was perhaps the richest colour of that odd scene there in the still woods and the firelight.
"We're going to take a farm in the most beautiful country in the world. It's easy to make money there."