Reginald Cruden | Page 8

we to do?"
"We are all strong enough to do something, dear boy," said Mrs
Cruden.
"I'll take care you don't have to do anything, mother," said Reginald,
looking up. "I'll work my fingers to the bones before you have to come
down to that." He spoke with clenched teeth, half savagely.
"Even if we can sell all the furniture," continued Horace, taking a
practical view of the situation, "it wouldn't give us much to live on."
"Shut up, Horace!" said Reginald. "What's the use of making the worst
of everything? Hasn't mother had quite enough to bear already?"
Horace subsided, and the three sat there in silence until the daylight
faded and the footman brought in the lights and announced that coffee
was ready in the drawing-room.
There was something like a shock about this interruption. What had
they to do with men-servants and coffee in the drawing-room, they who

an hour or two ago had supposed themselves wealthy, but now knew
that they were little better than beggars?
"We shall not want coffee," said Mrs Cruden, answering for all three.
Then when the footman had withdrawn, she said,--
"Boys, I must go to bed. God bless you, and give us all brave hearts, for
we shall need them!"
The funeral took place next day. Happily it was of a simple character,
and only a few friends were invited, so that it was not thought
necessary to alter the arrangements in consequence of Mr Richmond's
announcement of the evening before. But even the slight expense
involved in this melancholy ceremony grated painfully on the minds of
the boys, who forgot even their dead father in the sense that they were
riding in carriages for which they could not pay, and offering their
guests refreshments which were not theirs to give. The little cemetery
was crowded with friends and acquaintances of the dead--country
gentry most of them, who sought to show their respect for their late
neighbour by falling into the long funeral procession and joining the
throng at the graveside.
It was a severe ordeal for the two boys to find themselves the centres of
observation, and to feel that more than half the interest exhibited in
them was on account of their supposed inheritance.
One bluff squire came up after the funeral and patted Reginald on the
back.
"Never mind, my boy," said he; "I was left without a father at your age.
You'll soon get over it, and your mother will have plenty of friends.
Glad to see you up at the Hall any day, and your brother too. You must
join our hunt next winter, and keep up the family name. God bless
you!"
Reginald shrank from this greeting like a guilty being, and the two
desolate boys were glad to escape further encounters by retreating to
their carriage and ordering the coachman to drive home at once.

A few days disclosed all that was wanting to make their position quite
clear. Mr Cruden's will confirmed Mr Richmond's statement as to the
source of his income. All his money was invested in shares of the two
ruined railways, and all he had to leave besides these was the furniture
and contents of Garden Vale. Even this, when realised, would do little
more than cover the debts which the next week or two brought to light.
It was pitiful the way in which that unrelenting tide of bills flowed in,
swamping gradually the last hope of a competency, or even means of
bare existence, for the survivors.
Neither Mrs Cruden nor her sons had been able to endure a day's delay
at Garden Vale after the funeral, but had hurried for shelter to quiet
lodgings at the seaside, kept by an old servant, where in an agony of
suspense they awaited the final result of Mr Richmond's investigations.
It came at last, and, bad as it was, it was a comfort to know the worst.
The furniture, carriages, and other contents of Garden Vale had
sufficed to pay all debts of every description, with a balance of about
£350 remaining over and above, to represent the entire worldly
possessions of the Cruden family, which only a month ago had ranked
with the wealthiest in the county.
"So," said Mrs Cruden, with a shadow of her old smile, as she folded
up the lawyer's letter and put it back in her pocket, "we know the worst
at last, boys."
"Which is," said Reginald, bitterly, "we are worth among us the
magnificent sum of sixteen pounds per annum. Quite princely!"
"Reg, dear," said his mother, "let us be thankful that we have anything,
and still more that we may start life owing nothing to any one."
"Start life!" exclaimed Reginald; "I wish we could end it with--"
"Oh, hush, hush, my