"Rather a prolonged time, it seems," put in George, who was quite unlike his own light-hearted self to-day. "And for the other," continued Mr. Henry, ignoring the interruption, "you should bear it cheerfully, for you know it is born of love for you." "Ah, but you can't _imagine_ what it is," said the boy, leaning forward, his wide-open bright grey eyes full of eagerness. "It has been worse since we dined at Sir Simon's; that called up to mamma all the old forfeited prosperity. The grumbling never ceases; the lamentation's dreadful. We can't make ourselves rich, if we are not rich, so where's the use of groaning over it? It drives me wild." "Hush, George." "But I can't hush. Mamma is so ungrateful. There's poor Mary slaving in that school, never coming up for the holidays; and here's——" "George, I'll not hear this. Your mother's trials are very great." "There's an awful bother about the Christmas bills," went on George, paying slight attention to the reproof. "I wish you'd come down and talk with her." "I! My talking might do more harm than good." "You might try to smooth things a little—get her to look at troubles in a different light. Won't you? I can tell you it is miserable for me." "Well, I'll see. Go on with your Greek now." Mr. Henry, ever ready to do good where it was to be done—to throw oil on troubled waters—went down that evening to Mrs. Paradyne's. His interference was not received graciously. Mrs. Paradyne invited him to an opposite chair, and talked at him from the sofa. "I _should_ like to know what business it is of Mr. Henry's," she exclaimed, her cold resentful manner in full play. And of course he could not reply that it was any business of his; but he spoke of the trouble it was causing that fine boy, George; he spoke a little of the sad past, he spoke cheerily of a future that should be brighter. Mrs. Paradyne was often in a grumbling mood, but never in a worse than that evening. "I can't pay the Christmas bills. The money prepared for them I have had to encroach upon for other things. A new silk gown I was obliged to have; I can't go like an alms-woman. Never before did I have Christmas bills; I paid as I went on; but the cost of things in this place is frightful. I did not want money embarrassment added to my other troubles. It is all through our having come up here." Mr. Henry winced at the last reproach, too evidently directed to him. "I did it for the best," he gently said. "I was anxious that George should get on." Mrs. Paradyne lifted her delicate hands with deprecation, and went on with her complaints. They were wearying and painful, even to him; what, then, must they be to the high-spirited and generous boy who was exposed to them always? But Mr. Henry contrived to accomplish his mission, and he left a feeling of peace behind him when he quitted the house.