'Can't it be helped, father? I'd rather not, if the money could be raised any other way.'
'But that is impossible without a sale.'
'Why did Uncle Taverner lend the money?'
'We were behind in a score of things.'
'Is it all gone, father?'
'Gone! of course it is. Now I'm wanting more, and I must raise double what Taverner lends me, half to pay him off, and half to meet present demands.'
'How is this?'
'Bad times. Things will come round some day.'
'How long have they been bad?'
'Ever since your mother died. That was a bad day for us.' The old man sat rubbing his chin. 'The next bad day was when I quarrelled with Taverner, or rather, when Taverner quarrelled with me. 'Tis a pity. I made up his orchard with my new grafts; and a more beautiful lot of apple-trees are not to be seen—and he for to cut them. Shameful.'