the poor foolish boy was very fond of his master, and he consented to do
this wicked thing."

"Do you believe this to be the first time your brother ever Committed
forgery?"

"I do, Mr. Balderby. Remember he was only a lad, and I dare say he
thought it a fine thing to oblige his generous-hearted young master.
I've seen him many a time imitate the signature of this firm, and other
signatures, upon a half-sheet of letter-paper, for the mere fun of the
thing: but I don't believe my brother Joseph ever did a dishonest action
in his life until he forged those bills. He hadn't need have done so,
for he was only eighteen at the time."

"Young enough, young enough!" murmured Mr. Balderby, compassionately.

"Ay, sir, very young to be ruined for life. That one error, that one
wicked act, was his ruin; for though no steps were taken against him, he
lost his character, and never held his head up in an honest situation
again. He went from bad to worse, and three years after Mr. Henry sailed
for India, my brother, Joseph Wilmot, was convicted, with two or three
others, upon a charge of manufacturing forged Bank of England notes, and
was transported for life."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby; "a sad story,--a very sad story. I
have heard something of it before, but never the whole truth. Your
brother is dead, I suppose."

"I have every reason to believe so, sir," answered the old clerk,
producing a red cotton handkerchief and wiping away a couple of tears