“It is now, father,” he said, “because I am more careful than I used to be. Why? Has any one spoken to you about me? Indeed, father, I assure you that I have no debts now.” “No, my son, it is I who have the debts. I am sorry to tell you that I have had heavy losses, and that my riches have taken to themselves wings and flown away.” “You mean that you are not as well off as you used to be, father? I have guessed that lately. But there might be worse troubles than that, don’t you think so?” “Yes, my son, and there are. I cannot pay my debts.” “Then let us part with some of the things we have. I will sell my pony and my bicycle, and anything else that I have. We can sell this house and our carriages, and go into a small place in the country, for, of course, we must not live on other people’s property. If we cannot pay for things, they do not belong to us, and we have no right to them.” “But, Ernest, think of your poor mother.” “It is of my beautiful mother that I am thinking all the time. Father, we could not let any disgrace touch her, could we? There is no disgrace in being poor, unless we pretend to be rich. You were rich once, so you had a right to seem so; but now if the riches are gone, we shall be just as happy. Do not doubt us, father; mother, Mat and I will not add to your trouble. Be sure of that. Don’t become a bankrupt, father. Sell everything, and let the money go as far as it will, and then after a time we will pay the rest.” It was all easy and natural and simple to the boy; and Mr. Stapleton was half convinced as he listened to him. “Perhaps it will be best,” he said; “indeed, it is the more honourable way, but for the disgrace of it.” Ernest opened his eyes widely. “Disgrace!” he cried. “There is no disgrace if we pay people.” “Ah, Ernest,” said Dr. Stapleton, “you do not know what temptations there are in such a crisis as this. I will tell you what happened to me soon after I knew of your father’s troubles. Naturally, I would give all that I have and more to save my brother. One night, when I was wondering how I could get money, a man came to me and offered me a thousand pounds as a fee for doing something which both he and I knew to be wrong. I hesitated; for I have always endeavoured to act honourably in my profession; but I thought of the use that thousand pounds would be in our present difficulty to your father, and seeing me waver, he placed the cheque on my table, and left me.” “Oh, Uncle Fred, I am so sorry; and I am sure father would not wish you to do wrong for him, would you, father?” “No, Ernest, not when I am in my right mind, but a drowning man will catch at any straw, and I don’t know what I might have said if your uncle had asked me just then. But that was before Mr. Knight’s visit. I do thank God for that man’s faithful talk to me.”