Osborne - oh! what a dear, innocent boy he was: he was the heir, you know;and he was so clever, every one said he was sure of honours and a fellowship, and I don't know what all; and he did get a scholarship, and then all went wrong.I don't know how.That is the worst.Perhaps the squire wrote too angrily, and that stopped up confidence.But he might have told me.He would have done, I think, Molly, if he had been here, face to face with me.But the squire, in his anger, told him not to show his face at home till he had paid off the debts he had incurred out of his allowance.Out of two hundred and fifty a year to pay off more than nine hundred, one way or another! And not to come home till then! Perhaps Roger will have debts too! He had but two hundred; but, then, he was not the eldest son.
The squire has given orders that the men are to be turned off the draining-works;and I lie awake thinking of their poor families this wintry weather.But what shall we do? I've never been strong, and, perhaps, I've been extravagant in my habits; and there were family traditions as to expenditure, and the reclaiming of this land.Oh! Molly, Osborne was such a sweet little baby, and such a loving boy: so clever, too! You know I read you some of his poetry: now, could a person who wrote like that do anything very wrong?
