everybody do things?" sighed his listener, much perplexed.

"Everyone should. You are wondering what I do. My money comes to me
before I earn it, from houses--land--I have to see the people who live
in my houses have all that is fair and necessary, that the land is in
order. Then sometimes we lend other people our money, and they find
work for many others, and make more of it. Money is a very difficult
thing to explain, Christopher. What I want you to remember now is that
you must never take money from other people without giving something
in return, because it's stealing."

Christopher, with his usual disconcerting shrewdness, found an
unsatisfactory point.

"I don't do anything for the money you give me every week, Caesar."

Aymer was fairly caught, and wanted desperately to laugh, only the
boy's face was so grave and concerned he did not dare. He thought for
a moment to find a way out of the difficulty without upsetting the
somewhat vague theories he had just crystallised into words.

"But I owe something to the world, and you are a small atom of the
world, Christopher, so I choose to pay a mite of my debt that way.
Besides, it is a part of your education to learn how to spend money,
as much a part as Latin grammar."

Christopher thought it a much pleasanter part and looked relieved.

"I am glad you aren't paying me," he said slowly; "of course it's just
my good luck that it happened to be me you pay your debts to. Lots of
people aren't lucky like that."

Which was a truth that remained very deeply indented in Christopher's
mind. Aymer ordered him to bed, but when he said good-night he kept
grip of his hand.

"Why wouldn't you like me to pay you?" he demanded, almost roughly.

The boy got red and embarrassed, but Aymer waited remorselessly.

"I can't do anything," he said, "and if I did I'd hate you to pay me
like that. Some day I'll have to pay you, won't I?"

"I should hate that worse than you would," returned Aymer shortly.
"There's no question of money between us. I get all I want out of you.
Go to bed."

CHAPTER IV

Marden Court lay bathed in the mellow October sunshine. Late
Michaelmas daisies, fuchsias, and milky anemones stood smiling bravely
in the borders under the red brick walls, trails of crimson creepers
flung a glowing glory round grey stone pillar and coping, and in the
neighbouring woods the trees seemed to hold their breath under the
weight of the rich robes they wore. Mard