"Is that why he looks so black?" interposed Richard, laughing.

"Nay, Sir, I didn't notice _that_," said Harry, simply. "Very likely he
was down Dunloppel this morning. It half belongs to him, father says;
and if this lode turns out well, he will be very rich."

"And your father would be glad of that, would he not?"

"Yes, indeed, Sir; for Solomon is the son of his old friend and
preserver, as I told you."

"But it would not please _you_ quite so much--eh, Miss Harry?"

"Not so much as father--certainly not," answered the girl, gravely. "It
seems to me folks are rich enough when they don't spend half they get;
just as other folk--like Mr. Carew, who owns all about here--are poor
enough, with all their wealth, who pay out of their purse twice what
comes into it."

"Mr. Carew is known here for a spendthrift, is he, then?"

"Well, Sir, it's only gossip, for he has never set foot here in his
life, I reckon; but, from what we hear, he must fling away his money
finely. However, as father says, there's one excuse for him--he has
neither chick nor child of his own. Eh, but you're looking white, Sir;
Gethin air is apt to nip pretty sharp those who are not accustomed to
it. You had best not try the castle to-day."

"Yes, yes; we will go at once," cried Richard, impatiently; and, drawing