Just then an important message came for Mr. Winslow, and he had to hurry away, but Mr. Castleford still remained, and presently said, ‘Edward, I should like to know what your eyes have been trying to say all this time.’ ‘Oh, sir,’ I burst out, ‘do give him a chance. Indeed he never means to do wrong. The harm is not in him. He would have been the best of us all if he had only been let alone.’ Those were exactly my own foolish words, for which I could have beaten myself afterwards; but Mr. Castleford only gave a slight grave smile, and said, ‘You mean that your brother’s real defect is in courage, moral and physical.’ ‘Yes,’ I said, with a great effort at expressing myself. ‘When he is frightened, or bullied, or browbeaten, he does not know what he is doing or saying. He is quite different when he is his own self; only nobody can understand.’ Strange that though the favoured home son and nearly sixteen years old, it would have been impossible to utter so much to one of our parents. Indeed the last sentence felt so disloyal that the colour burnt in my cheeks as the door opened; but it only admitted Clarence, who, having heard the front door shut, thought the coast was clear, and came in with a load of my books and dictionaries. ‘Clarence,’ said Mr. Castleford, and the direct address made him start and flush, ‘supposing your father consents, should you be willing to turn your mind to a desk in my counting-house?’ He flushed deeper red, and his fingers quivered as he held by the table. ‘Thank you, sir. Anything—anything,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘Well,’ said Mr. Castleford, with the kindest of voices, ‘let us have it out. What is in your mind? You know, I’m a sort of godfather to you.’ ‘Sir, if you would only let me have a berth on board one of your vessels, and go right away.’ ‘Aye, my poor boy, that’s what you would like best, I’ve no doubt; but look at Edward’s face there, and think what that would come to at the best!’ ‘Yes, I know I have no right to choose,’ said Clarence, drooping his head as before. ‘’Tis not that, my dear lad,’ said the good man, ‘but that packing you off like that, among your inferiors in breeding and everything else, would put an end to all hope of your redeeming the past—outwardly I mean, of course—and lodge you in a position of inequality to your brothers and sister, and all—’ ‘That’s done already,’ said Clarence. ‘If you were a man grown it might be so,’ returned Mr. Castleford, ‘but bless me, how old are you?’ ‘Seventeen next 1st of November,’ said Clarence. ‘Not a bit too old for a fresh beginning,’ said Mr. Castleford cheerily. ‘God helping you, you will be a brave and good man yet, my boy—’ then as my master rang at the door—‘Come with me and look at the old shop.’