The cheeks of my uncle reddened. The last sentence of Mr. Edgerton was unfortunate for his object. It conveyed a tacit reproof, which the niggardly conscience of Mr. Clifford readily appropriated and, perhaps, anticipated. He dreaded lest Mr. Edgerton knew all. “You are probably aware, Mr. Edgcrton,” he replied with equal hesitancy and haste--“you have heard that Edward Clifford is an orphan--that he has nothing, and it was therefore necessary that he should learn to employ himself; though it was against my wish, sir, that he went into a mercantile house.” There was something suppressed in this--a mean evasion--for he could not easily have told Mr. Edgcrton, without a blush, that, instead of the mercantile establishment, he would have made me a bricklayer's hodman. But this, it seems, Edgerton had found out for himself. His reply, however, was calculated to soothe the jealous apprehensions of Mr. Clifford. He had an object in view, which he thought too important to risk for the small pleasure of a passing sarcasm. “Perhaps, it has happened for the best, Mr. Clifford. You were right in requiring the young man to do for himself. Were I worth millions, sir, I should still prefer that my son should learn that lesson--that he should work out his own deliverance with the sweat of his own brow.” “I agree with you, sir, perfectly,” replied the other, with increased complacency. “A boy learns to value his money as he should, only when he has earned it for himself.” “Ah! it is not for this object simply,” replied Mr. Edgerton, “that I would have him acquire habits of industry; it is for the moral results which such habits produce--the firmness, character, consistency--the strength and independence--temperance, justice--all of which arise, and almost only, from obedience to this law. But it is clear that one can not do everything by himself, and this young man, though he has gone on in a manner that might shame the best of us, is still not so thoroughly independent as he fancies himself. It will be some time before he will be able to realize anything from his profession, and he will need some small assistance in the meantime.” “I can not help him,” exclaimed Mr. Clifford, abruptly--“I have not the means to spare. My own family need everything that I can give. He has himself only to blame. He chose his profession for himself. I warned him against it. He needn't send to me.” “Do not mistake me, Mr. Clifford,” said Mr. Edgerton, calmly. “Your nephew knows nothing of my present visit. I would be loath that he should know. It was the singular independence of his mind that led me to the conviction, that he would sooner die than ask assistance from anybody, that persuaded me to suggest to you in what manner you might afford him an almost necessary help, without offending his sensibility.”