“Of course not, boy,” interrupted Mr Shirley. “Well, now, let me ask you, Ned, how much gold have you brought back from the diggings?”
Ned fidgeted uncomfortably on his seat—the subject could no longer be avoided.
“I—I—must confess,” said he, with hesitation, “that I haven’t brought much.”
“Of course, you couldn’t be expected to have done much in so short a time; but how much?”
“Only 500 pounds,” replied Ned, with a sigh, while a slight blush shone through the deep bronze of his countenance.
“Oh!” said Mr Shirley, pursing up his mouth, while an arch twinkle lurked in the corners of each eye.
“Ah! but, uncle, you mustn’t quiz me. I had more, and might have brought it home too, if I had chosen.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Ned replied to this question by detailing how most of his money had been lost, and how, at the last, he gave nearly all that remained to his friend Tom Collins.
“You did quite right, Ned, quite right,” said Mr Shirley, when his nephew had concluded; “and now I’ll tell you what I want you to do. You told me the other day, I think, that you wished to become a farmer.”