x man, I mean. What business was this then, papa?'

'It was something about an old account, my dear, that he wanted to set
right. There had been a mistake, it seems.'

'Anything to pay?' inquired Esther with a little anxiety.

'No. It's all right; or so he says.'

Esther thought it was somewhat odd, but, however, was willing to let
the subject of a settled account go; and she had almost forgotten it,
when her father broached a very different subject.

'Would you like to go to live in Seaforth again, Esther?'

'Seaforth, papa?' she repeated, much wondering at the question. 'No, I
think not. I loved Seaforth once--dearly!--but we had friends there
then; or we thought we had. I do not think it would be pleasant to be
there now.'

'Then what do you think of our going back to England? You do not like
_this_ way of life, I suppose, in this pitiful place? I have kept you
here too long!'

What had stirred the colonel up to so much speculation? Esther
hesitated.

'Papa, I know our friends there seem very eager to have us; and so far
it would be good; but--if we went back, have we enough to live upon and
be independent?'

'No.'

'Then I would rather be here. We are doing very nicely, papa; you are
comfortable, are you not? I am very well placed, and earning
money--enough money. Really we are not poor any longer. And it is so
nice to be independent!'

'Not poor!' said the colonel, between a groan and a growl. 'What do you
call poor? For you and for me to be in this doleful street is to be all
that, I should say.'

'Papa,' said Esther, her lips wreathing into a smile, 'I think nobody
is poor who can live and pay his debts. And we have no debts at all.'

'By dint of hard work on your part, and deprivation on mine!'

'Papa,' said Esther, the smile fading away,--what did he mean by
deprivation?--'I thought--I hoped you were comfortable?'

'Comfortable!' groaned and growled the colonel again. 'I believe,
Esther, you have forgotten what comfort means. Or rather, you never
knew. For _us_ to be in a prison like this, and shut out from the
world!'

'Papa, I never thought you cared for the world. And this does not feel
like a prison to me. I have been very happy here, and free, and oh, so
thankful! If you remember how we were before, papa.'

'All the same,' said the colonel, 'it is not fitting that those who are
meant for the world should live out of it. I wish I had taken you home
years ago. You see nobody. You have