Archie put this letter and the cheque into an envelope, which he placed conspicuously on the table that his father might see it, and then he left the house, with a soul more heavy and a heart more sore than words could say.
“Your brother is always getting to loggerheads with your father,” said Eddy to Marion, who was helping him with a design for the wall. “You should give him good advice, and get him to take a jaw pleasantly. They all do it, don’t you know.”
“Who all do it?—but I’m astonished at papa,” said Marion; “for why should Archie give all his money to a lad that was not at all of his kind, but just a companion for a while, when we were—not as we are now. Archie has not so much money that he could give it away to—a friend.”
“Why should he indeed?” said Eddy. “Friends that want money are always to be had in plenty; but money is best in one’s pocket, which is the right place for it, as you say.”
“I am just surprised at papa,” said Marion; “for it should be a father’s part to keep us from foolishness, and not to put it into our heads. Archie is silly enough without giving him any encouragement. He was always for giving things away; and this Colin—for I am sure it must be Colin—is just one that will never be better whatever is done for him. It is just throwing away money.—Shall I cut out all these leaves the same, or would it be better if they were a little different, like leaves upon a tree?”
“Oh, make them like the drawing, please,” said Eddy.—“Archie is a very good fellow, but he takes things too seriously. What is the use of looking so tragical? The best of fathers loves a chance for a sermon. You must speak to him like a mother, Miss May.”
“I have always been the most sensible,” said May; “but I am the youngest, and I don’t see how I could speak to him like a mother. I will, perhaps, speak to papa, and tell him how wrong it is, when a boy is disposed to be saving and takes care of his money, to put such things in his head. For what could Colin Lamont matter to him in comparison with himself? And where would we have been now, if papa had thrown away his money and made that kind of use of it? It is not for Archie’s sake, for Archie is just very silly; but I think I will perhaps speak to papa.”
And then they returned with enthusiasm to the decorations for the hall.
Poor Archie, for his part, wandered out disconsolate upon the hills: everything was turning out badly for him. There had been a moment when things were better, when he had overcome various troubles—his unaccustomed gun, and Roderick and the groom, and the sudden valse into which he had been driven, with still less chance of escape. For a week or two things had gone so well, that he had began to trust a little in his fate; but now again the balance had turned, and everything was going badly. Small comfort was there in prospect for him. He had denuded himself altogether of all his revenues, and now there came upon him the consciousness of many things that would be required of him, many claims which he would be unable to respond to. He would not have a sixpence to give to a boy, or a penny to a beggar. He would have to guard against every little expense as if he were a beggar himself. He could not go to Glasgow again, however much he might wish to do so, scarcely even to go across the ferry. He had nothing, and would have nothing till Christmas, these long and weary months. And Eddy did nothing but lift his eyebrows, half-amused at the misery of which he was the cause. And never could Archie explain, neither to his father, nor to Aunt Jane, the reason why he had refused her prayer for Colin Lamont. When he thought of that, Archie gnashed his teeth, and in the silence of the hillside, dashed his clenched hands into the air. He must bear it all and never say a word—and all the time see before him the other, smiling, who could make it all plain. But Archie did not know how much greater and more awful trouble was yet in store.