"Of course, sir," I said, "I am discharged."
"Yes, yes, I had forgotten that," he said, hurriedly. "You must have a
better post--one more suited to your abilities. Now, let me see--let me
see--what steps ought I to take first? Something in the city, perhaps,
or I would rather see you in one of the Government offices."
I looked at him wonderingly, as he sat down at the table now, and taking
up a letter, used it to tap on the polished wood.
"Yes, I think in one of the Government offices," he continued, while I
glanced now at Mrs John, whose face was full of the lines caused by her
thoughts.
As she met my eyes, she gave me a piteous look, and shook her head
sadly, as if saying something by way of warning.
"Yes, I think decidedly one of the Government offices, my dear, but
which?"
As he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at Mrs John, who met his gaze
with one so full of loving tenderness that it impressed me, and the more
that I saw what a change took place directly in Mr John's countenance,
ending by his looking down at the letter he held in his hand.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "what a miserable dreamer I am! Always the same!
Mayne, my boy," he added, piteously, "you must not listen to me. I
cannot even help myself, and here am I talking to you in this vain,
foolish way."
He let his head drop into his hands, and sat bent down till Mrs John
went to his side.
"Don't give way," I heard her whisper; "it was your good heart that
spoke."
"My good heart," he said piteously--"no, my weak, foolish, dreaming
brain. It was always so, and I have brought you down to poverty like
this."
She bent lower, and whispered a few words which seemed quite to
transform him.
"Yes," he cried, with his face flushing, "I am always ungrateful, and
letting present troubles set benefits aside. Mayne, my boy, I wanted
you to come and see us. I told you that we were going abroad--for my
wife's health--I might say for my own," he added, with a smile, "for I
am no use here in England."
"And you are going, sir?" I said, glad to find that the conversation
was changing.
"Yes; to join my dear wife's brother. He has sent us an invitation. He
thinks I might like the life out there, and he is sure that it will give
renewed health to his sister."
"I am very glad, sir," I said, holding out my hands to both, "and--very
sorry."
"To lose _us_," said Mr John. "Yes; now we are getting to know each
other so well, it will be painful."
"Are you going to Canada, sir?" I said, hastily, for the idea of losing
almost my only friends chilled me.
"To Canada first, then on by slow degrees to the great North-West. My
brother-in-law--did I not tell you?"