Jack looked at him silently from under lowered brows.

"Go up and shake hands," said the Vicar, still gently, but with angry eyes. "Your aunt and I have apologised for you, as you have not done it for yourself."

Jack approached the visitor in his slouch­ing way, and held out a grimy left hand, keeping the right still in his pocket.

"Why not the other hand?" asked the doctor.

"Can't."

"What have you done to yourself now?" asked Mrs. Raymond, with a pathetic, uncon­scious emphasis on the last word. "Why, your sleeve's all over mud, and you've torn that new jacket!" "Take your hand out of your pocket," said the Vicar. His voice was growing sharp with suppressed irritation.

The hand, when unrolled from a dirty, blood-stained handkerchief, proved to be scratched and grazed.

"How did you do that?"

Jack threw a sullen glance at his uncle.

"Climbing on Deadman's Cliff."

"Where you have been strictly forbidden to go?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Jack," said the aunt helplessly; "how can you be so disobedient!"

The Vicar took out the black book and made another entry.

"Go to your room and wait till I come," was all he said.

Jack turned with a shrug of his shoulders, and left the room, whistling. Mrs. Ray­mond followed, glancing nervously at her husband.

"It's no use our trying to hide the skeleton in our family cupboard away from you," said the Vicar, turning to his visitor with a sigh. "It has been forced upon your notice, against our will. My nephew's bad disposition has been a heavy cross to Mrs. Raymond and myself; the heaviest with which it has pleased Providence to afflict us."

"He may grow out of this wilfulness in time," the doctor ventured, consolingly. "After all, many very good men have been naughty boys."