no insurance office would accept my
life, and that I have been unable, owing to competition and increased
expenses, to lay anything by. If I die soon (which, between ourselves,
is by no means improbable), I must leave to your care your mother and
the children. My practice is so entirely a personal one that I cannot
hope to be able to hand over to you enough to afford a living."

I thought of Cullingworth's advice about going where you are least
known. "I think," said I, "that, my chances would be better away from
here."

"Then you must lose no time in establishing yourself," said he. "Your
position would be one of great responsibility if anything were to happen
to me just now. I had hoped that you had found an excellent opening with
the Saltires; but I fear that you can hardly expect to get on in the
world, my boy, if you insult your employer's religious and political
view at his own table."

It wasn't a time to argue, so I said nothing. My father took a copy of
the Lancet out of his desk, and turned up an advertisement which he had
marked with a blue pencil. "Read this!" said he.

I've got it before me as I write. It runs thus: Qualified Assistant.
Wanted at once in a large country and colliery practice. Thorough
knowledge of obstetrics and dispensing indispensable. Ride and drive.
L70 a year. Apply Dr. Horton Merton on the Moors, Yorkshire."

"There might be an opening there," said he. "I know Horton, and I am
convinced that I can get you the appointment. It would at least give
you the opportunity of looking round and seeing whether there was any
vacancy there. How do you think it would suit you?"

Of course I could only answer that I was willing to turn my hand
to anything. But that interview has left a mark upon me--a heavy
ever-present gloom away at the back of my soul, which I am conscious of
even when the cause of it has for a moment gone out of my thoughts.

I had enough to make a man serious before, when I had to face the world
without money or interest. But now to think of the mother and my sisters
and little Paul all leaning upon me when I cannot stand myself--it is
a nightmare. Could there be anything more dreadful in life than to have
those whom you love looking to you for help and to be unable to give it?
But perhaps it won't come to that. Perhaps my father may hold his
own for years. Come what may, I am bound to think that all things are
ordered for the best; though when the good is a furlong off,