"I can't understand such a difference in the natures of father and son," Moore continued, after Nancy's interruption. "The father starts life penniless, without education, friends or business training. He settles in a locality where the majority of his neighbors find it a heart-breaking struggle to make ends meet, and amasses a fortune. Such a performance in a country where business is brisk and natural facilities favorable to the manipulations of a clever man would not be so surprising, but we all know the Monk Road has no gold mines or streams of commerce to disturb its dreamlike serenity."
A tone of irony pervaded Moore's words, for he was past forty, and had but a paltry bank account and a living salary to show for his ten years' sojourn in the place.
"Compare the father's record with that of his son. The boy is given all the advantages that money can obtain, and plenty of time for growth, and he has also the example of his parent. Why, the lad was the terror of the school, never out of mischief, and costing his father a pretty sum to keep him from serious consequences. Before he was fifteen he spent his Saturdays carousing with the wildest set in the town, and incidentally built up a very unenviable reputation. Then he was sent to a city college. Did you hear the rumors that came back of what he did there?"
"There was some talk," Nancy agreed.
"Talk! Mistress McVeigh; downright scandal, I should call it! I know he was expelled for attending a party at the Principal's own home in an intoxicated condition, and afterwards fighting with a teacher who undertook to reprimand him."
Nancy looked up from her knitting, and an amused twinkle was in her eyes.
"The lad sowed wild oats sure enough, Mr. Moore, and good, tall ones, with full heads at that, but he's only an image o' his father, in that old John's recklessness runs to makin' money, and young John's to spendin'. It's not that I like bringin' up bygones, but the father was a bit loose in his day, too. I can remember, before old John married, he would come from town takin' the width o' the road fer his path, and singin' at the top o' his voice something he learnt out o' a Burns' book o' poetry. It was the wife that he brought from the city, bless her good soul, that turned his work into a gold-mine. She guided him out o' his evil way and kept him hard at his dealin's from morning till night. It'll be the same with young John. He's spendin' his money now, and makin' the whole countryside ring with his pranks, but a foine miss'll spy him out some day, and then his mind'll forget his throat and dwell on his pocket. He'll never fail, fer he takes after his mother in the face, and she was the envy of the people the length o' the Monk Road, and farther. It's an old woman I'm gettin' now, an' I've watched many young men developin' character, an' I'm just a bit o' a judge. Ye'll admit I've had a grand opportunity to study their evil side, and what I don't see is told me by the neighbors; then their good side turns up after awhile, like a rainbow after a shower. I find it takes wise men to be really bad ones, but, after they've learnt their lesson, they see what a dried-up skeleton an evil life is, and then it's a race to make up fer their wasted years. Course, if a fool is led into idle habits, he must be led out again, and it's doubtful whether the process is very purifyin'. But it's different when a man like John Keene's son sees the error o' his ways. I tell ye, Mr. Moore, it's only a question o' time, an' young John'll be as set as his father, but he'll no be as tight, I'm thinkin'. He's got his mother's heart, ye know."
"You have rare assurance in the strength of human nature, Mistress McVeigh. Perhaps it is because you're fairly strong in that quarter yourself," commented Mr. Moore, after he had digested Nancy's crude philosophy.
A smile crept into the corners of Nancy's mouth at the compliment, and she let it rest there a few minutes before replying.
"Ye've noticed that young John's a regular visitor at the tavern lately?" she asked.