hardly concern yourself to inquire how much I may hitherto
have lived within my income."

Johnnie, who, quite unknown to himself, had just sustained the loss of
many thousands hitherto placed to his name, replied with supreme
indifference that he hoped he was not such a muff as to care about money
that his father did not care about himself, and did not want. Whereupon
John proceeded,--

"It is my wish, and in the course of a few years I hope that I shall be
able, to retire."

"Oh," said Johnnie again, and he surprised his father to the point of
making him refrain from any further communication, by adding, "And then
you'll have plenty of time to rummage among those old Turanian verbs and
things. But, father?"

"Yes, my boy."

John looked down into the clear eyes of the great, awkward, swarthy
fellow, expecting the question, "Will this make much difference to my
future prospects?" But, no, what he said was, "I should like to have a
_go_ at them too. And you said you would teach me Sanscrit, if ever you
had leisure."

"So I did," said John, "and so I will."

To his own mind these buried roots, counted by the world so dry, proved,
as it were, appetising and attractive food. How, then, should he be
otherwise than pleased that his son should take delight in the thought
of helping him to rake them up, and arguing with him over "the ninth
meaning of a particle?" "The boy will learn to love money quite soon
enough," he thought.

Johnnie then went his way. It was Saturday afternoon; he told his
sisters that "it was all right," and thereupon resolving no longer to
deny themselves the innocent pleasures of life, they sent little Bertram
into the town for eighteenpennyworth of "rock."

"Where's the change?" he inquired, with the magisterial dignity
belonging to his race, when his little brother came home.

Bertram replied with all humility that he had only, been tossing up the
fourpenny piece a few times for fun, when it fell into the ditch. He
couldn't help it; he was very sorry.

"_Soufflez_ the fourpenny piece," said Johnnie in a burst of reckless
extravagance; "I forgive you this once. Produce the stuff."

He felt a lordly contempt for money just then; perhaps it was wrong, but
prosperity was spoiling him. He was to retain his pony, and this amiable
beast was dear to him.

In the meantime Valentine, established at Melcombe, had been enjoying
the sweetness of a no less real prosperity.

From that moment, when