“Because I led Grounds a little? Oh, that was fair enough. It does not follow from that, that honesty is not the banker’s only policy. Make no mistake about that. But I am going into the house now. Just bring me the note-issue book, will you? I must see how we stand. I shall be in the dining-room.” But when Arthur went into the house a few minutes later he met Betty, who was crossing the hall. “Your father wanted this book,” he said. “Will you take it to him?” But Betty put her hands behind her back. “Why? Where are you going?” “You have forgotten that it is Saturday. I am going home.” “Horrid Saturday! I thought that to-night, with father just back——” “I wouldn’t go? If I don’t my mother will think that the skies have fallen. Besides, I am riding Clement’s mare, and if I don’t go, how is he to come back?” “As you go at other times. On his feet.” “Ah, well, very soon I shall have a horse of my own. You’ll see, Betty. We are all going to make our fortunes now.” “Fortunes?”—with disdain. “Whose?” “Your father’s for one.” “Silly! He’s made his.” “Then yours—and mine, Betty. Yours and mine—and Clement’s.” “I don’t think he’ll thank you.” “Then Rodd’s. But, no, we’ll not make Rodd’s. We’ll not make Rodd’s, Betty.” “And why not Mr. Rodd’s?” “Never mind. We’ll not make it,” mischievously. “I wonder why you’ve got such a color, Betty?” And as she snatched the book from him and threatened him with it, “Good-bye till Monday. I’m late now, and it will be dark before I am out of the town.” With a gay nod he vanished through the door that led into the bank. She looked after him, the book in her hand. Her lip curled. “Rodd indeed!” she murmured. “Rodd? As if I should ever—oh, isn’t he provoking!” CHAPTER II The village of Garthmyle, where Arthur had his home, lay in the lap of the border hills more than seven miles from Aldersbury, and night had veiled the landscape when he rode over the bridge and up the village street. The squat church-tower, firm and enduring as the hopes it embodied, rose four-square above the thatched dwellings, and some half-mile away the rider could discern or imagine the blur of trees that masked Garth, on its sister eminence. But the bounds of the valley, in the mouth of which the village nestled, were obscured by darkness; the steep limestone wall which fenced it on one side and the more distant wooded hills that sloped gently to it on the other were alike hidden. It was only when Arthur had passed through the hamlet, where all doors were closed against the chill of a January night, and he had ridden a few paces down the hillock, that the lights of the Cottage broke upon his view. Many a time had they, friendly beacons of home and rest, greeted him at that point.