"A man that loves money better than his son; who would rather see him ragged and dirty, nay even dead, than expend upon his comfort a part of his useless riches. Are you not glad that your father is not a miser?"
"I don't know," said Godfrey; "he would save money to make me rich, and when he died all his wealth would be mine. Anthony is not so badly off after all, and I think I will try to love him, that he may give me a part of his great fortune by-and-by."
"Your love, springing from a selfish motive, would not be worth having. Besides, Godfrey, you will have a fortune of your own."
"I'm not so clear of that," said the boy, with a sly glance at his father. "People say that you will spend all your money on yourself, and leave none for me when you die."
There was much—too much truth in this remark; and though Algernon laughed at what he termed his dear boy's wit, it stung him deeply. "Where can he have learned that?" he thought; "such an idea could never have entered into the heart of a child." Then turning to Mrs. Paisley, who had just entered the room, he said,—
"Take and wash and clothe that little boy; and when he is nicely dressed, bring him in to speak to his cousin."
"Come, my little man," said the old lady, gently shaking the juvenile stranger. "Come, wake up. You have slept long enough. Come this way with me."
"Whose clothes are you going to put upon him?" demanded Godfrey.
"Why in course, Master Godfrey, you will lend him some of yours?"
"Well, if I do, remember, Paisley, you are not to take my best."