Jennie was crying bitterly, and saying softly to herself, “O my brave laddie!  O my bonnie lile Davie!”

“Hush, woman!  No good comes of crying.  Write now as soon as you like, and the sooner the better.”

In a very few hours Jennie had acted on this advice, and, though the writing and spelling were wonderful, the poor sick general, nursing himself at the Bath waters, felt the love that spoke in every word.  He had not expected much from his brothers; it was Jennie and Jennie’s bairns he wanted to see.  He was soon afterwards an honored guest in Esthwaite Grange, and the handsome old soldier, riding slowly among the lovely dales, surrounded by his nephews and nieces, became a well-known sight to the villages around.

Many in Thirlston remembered him, and none of his old companions found themselves forgotten.  Nor did he neglect his brothers.  These cautious men had become of late years manufacturers, and it was said were growing fabulously rich.  They had learned the value of the low coppice woods on their fell-side, and had started a bobbin-mill which Sam superintended, while Matt was on constant duty at the great steam-mill on Milloch-Force, where he spun his own wools into blankets and serges.

The men were not insensible to the honor of their brother’s career; they made great capital of it privately.  But they were also intensely dissatisfied at the reckless way in which he spent his wealth.  Young David Esthwaite had joined a crack regiment with his uncle’s introduction and at his uncle’s charges, and Jennie and Mary Esthwaite had been what the brothers considered extravagantly dowered in order that they might marry two poor clergymen whom they had set their hearts on.

“It is just sinful, giving women that much good gold,” said Matt angrily:  “and here we are needing it to keep a great business afloat.”

It was the first time Matt had dared to hint that the mill under his care was not making money, and he was terribly shocked when Sam made a similar confession.  In fact, the brothers, with all their cleverness and industry, were so ignorant that they were necessarily at the mercy of those they employed, and they had fallen into roguish hands.  Sam proposed that David should be asked to look over their affairs and tell them where the leakage was:  “He was always a lile-hearted chap, and I’d trust him, Matt, up hill and down dale, I would.”

But Matt objected to this plan.  He said David must be taken through the mills and the most made of everything, and then in a week or two afterwards be offered a partnership; and Matt, being the eldest, carried the day.  A great festival was arranged, everything was seen to the best advantage, and David was exceedingly interested.  He lingered with a strange fascination among the steam-looms, and Matt saw the bait had taken, for as they walked back together to the old homestead David said, “You were ever a careful man, Matt, but it must take a deal of money—­you understand, brother—­if you need at any time—­I hope I don’t presume.”