"Not on my account, I hope," Dr. Jenkins put in. "I regarded the whole thing really as a joke, and should never have thought of complaining if you had not happened to hear of it."

"You are very kind," replied the Vicar; "but I never overlook an offence."

"Good Heavens, what a piled-up account there must be against that boy!" thought the doctor. He turned the conversation away, as soon as he could, from the sore subject of Jack's delinquencies. On other topics the Vicar proved a very agreeable talker; practi­cal, clear-headed, and fairly well informed. He took a great interest in local philanthropic and pious enterprises, particularly in missions,

He was giving the visitor an account of his connection with the Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen, when the house-door was violently slammed and Mrs. Raymond looked up in nervous anticipation.

"Jack!" called the Vicar, rising and open­ing the door of the room. "Come in here. Molly, my dear," he added, turning to the little girl; "you had better run upstairs and play."

"Mind you change your pinafore," said Mrs. Raymond, as the child went out. "And ask Mary Anne ------ Oh, Jack, where have you been to get into that state!"

Jack had slouched into the room with his hands in his pockets. He took in the situa­tion at a glance, and stopped short beside the door, scowling at the visitor. Sullen, grimy, and unkempt, his obstinate chin stuck out, his jacket torn and dirty, and the wet mud from his boots soiling the clean carpet, he looked as ill-favoured and ill-conditioned a young brute as any family could be cursed with.

"Do you remember this gentleman?" asked the Vicar, with ominous composure.

"I'll bet he remembers me, anyway," said Jack. Heard in a room, his voice sounded curiously full and resonant for his age.

"I certainly do," said the visitor, still cheerfully trying to avert the gathering-storm. "Come here and shake hands, boy, to show there's no ill feeling."