“Yes, I have tried everything—­I really have.  I should have had a hundred and thirty pounds ready but for a misfortune with a horse which I was about to sell.  My uncle had given me eighty pounds, and I paid away thirty with my old horse in order to get another which I was going to sell for eighty or more—­I meant to go without a horse—­ but now it has turned out vicious and lamed itself.  I wish I and the horses too had been at the devil, before I had brought this on you.  There’s no one else I care so much for:  you and Mrs. Garth have always been so kind to me.  However, it’s no use saying that.  You will always think me a rascal now.”

Fred turned round and hurried out of the room, conscious that he was getting rather womanish, and feeling confusedly that his being sorry was not of much use to the Garths.  They could see him mount, and quickly pass through the gate.

“I am disappointed in Fred Vincy,” said Mrs. Garth.  “I would not have believed beforehand that he would have drawn you into his debts.  I knew he was extravagant, but I did not think that he would be so mean as to hang his risks on his oldest friend, who could the least afford to lose.”

“I was a fool, Susan:” 

“That you were,” said the wife, nodding and smiling.  “But I should not have gone to publish it in the market-place.  Why should you keep such things from me?  It is just so with your buttons:  you let them burst off without telling me, and go out with your wristband hanging.  If I had only known I might have been ready with some better plan.”

“You are sadly cut up, I know, Susan,” said Caleb, looking feelingly at her.  “I can’t abide your losing the money you’ve scraped together for Alfred.”

“It is very well that I had scraped it together; and it is you who will have to suffer, for you must teach the boy yourself.  You must give up your bad habits.  Some men take to drinking, and you have taken to working without pay.  You must indulge yourself a little less in that.  And you must ride over to Mary, and ask the child what money she has.”

Caleb had pushed his chair back, and was leaning forward, shaking his head slowly, and fitting his finger-tips together with much nicety.

“Poor Mary!” he said.  “Susan,” he went on in a lowered tone, “I’m afraid she may be fond of Fred.”

“Oh no!  She always laughs at him; and he is not likely to think of her in any other than a brotherly way.”

Caleb made no rejoinder, but presently lowered his spectacles, drew up his chair to the desk, and said, “Deuce take the bill—­ I wish it was at Hanover!  These things are a sad interruption to business!”

The first part of this speech comprised his whole store of maledictory expression, and was uttered with a slight snarl easy to imagine.  But it would be difficult to convey to those who never heard him utter the word “business,” the peculiar tone of fervid veneration, of religious regard, in which he wrapped it, as a consecrated symbol is wrapped in its gold-fringed linen.