'I've got all _that_ ready,' said Esther contentedly, 'so he may come when he likes,--the tax 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 seen nobody all your life but one family; and I wish you had never seen them!' 'The Dallases? Oh, why, papa?' 'You do not care for them, I suppose, _now?_' 'I do not care for them at all, papa. I did care for one of them very much, once; but I have given him up long ago. When I found he had forgotten us, it was not worth while for me to remember. That is all dead. His father and mother,--I doubt if ever they were real friends, to you or to me, papa.'