“Yes, he left just before you came,” said Prudence. “But never mind about him, brother. Tell us about yourself. Have you made a fortune?”
“For sure, he must,” said their mother, gazing with round, proud eyes upon her boy, “for how else came he to travel from California to here, just to set his eyes on us and see a slip of a girl take to herself a husband? My, but it’s a great journey for a boy to take.”
“Nothing to what I’ve done in my time,” replied Hervey. “Besides, mother, I’ve got further to go yet. And as for sister Prudence’s marriage, I’m afraid I can’t stay for that.”
“Not stay?” exclaimed his mother.
“Do you mean it?” asked his sister incredulously.
Sarah Gurridge contented herself with looking her dismay.
“You see, it’s like this,” said Hervey. He had an uncomfortable habit of keeping his eyes fixed upon the table, only just permitting himself occasional swift upward glances over the other folk’s heads. “When I got your letter, Prudence, I was just preparing to come up from Los Mares to go and see a big fruit-grower at Niagara. The truth is that my fruit farm is a failure and I am trying to sell it.”
“My poor boy!” exclaimed his mother; “and you never told me. But there, you were always as proud as proud, and never would let me help you. Your poor father was just the same; when things went wrong he wouldn’t own up to any one. I remember how we lost sixty acres of forty-bushel, No. 1 wheat with an August frost. I never learned it till we’d taken in the finest crop in the district at the next harvesting. But you didn’t put all your savings into fruit?”
“I’m afraid I did, mother, worse luck.”