“It is very well said, Miss Muir,” said Mr. Gilchrist, contemplating the long inscription upon the heavy chased lid of his snuff-box, with quiet satisfaction. “I really think it would be an unkindly thing to throw back this, which was meant for a kindness, into the hands that offer it. He is not an ill man, George Buchanan; ’for one ye’ll get better, there’s waur ye’ll get ten,’ as the song says; and besides, Harry, I was young once myself, and so was my wife. I mind when our James was in his cradle like that youngster there, we had just little enough to come and go on; and for any pride of your own, you must see and not scrimp your wife. Touts man, you are not going to take ill what I say. Do you think, if I lost a quarter’s salary just now, it would not scrimp _my_ wife? and I think no shame of it.” “Neither do I think shame--certainly not,” said Harry, “we have only what we work for. But I have actually lost Mr. Buchanan’s money--I don’t see--” “Harry,” interrupted Mr. Gilchrist, “never mind telling me what you don’t see--come down to the office to-morrow, and hear what Mr. Buchanan sees--he has older eyes than you, and knows the world better, and there’s no saying what may come of it; for you see, Mrs. Muir,” continued the Cashier, casting down his kindly eyes again upon the grandiloquent inscription which testified that his snuff-box had been presented to him by young men trained in the office under his auspices, as a token of esteem and respect, “it is wonderful what a kindness everybody has for this lad. I myself have been missing his laugh this whole day, and scarcely knowing what ailed me--so maybe something better may turn up if he comes down to-morrow.” “And Martha thinks you should go--and mind all that we have to do, Harry,” whispered Agnes. A glow of pleasure was on Harry’s face--he liked to be praised, and felt in it an innocent kindly satisfaction--but still he hesitated. To go back again among those who knew that he had been dismissed and disgraced--to humiliate himself so far as again to recognise Dick Buchanan as his superior--to present himself humbly before Dick Buchanan’s father, and propitiate his favour. It was very unpalatable to Harry, who after his own fashion had no lack of pride. “I will see about it. I will think it over,” said Harry doubtfully. “I think I must send our Tom to you in his red gown,” said Mr. Gilchrist; “where he got it, I cannot say, but they tell me the lad is a metaphysical man--if he ever gets the length to be a preacher, we will have to send him East, I’m thinking, for metaphysics seldom flourish here away; but now my wife will be redding me up for being so late. Mind, Harry, I will expect to see you at the office to-morrow.”