"I don't know what to do about him, Squire; the boy has always been a
trouble to me. You see, before you came home, he got into bad hands in
the village here. Of course they have all gone, but several of them only
moved as far as Reigate, and he kept up their acquaintance. I thrashed
him again and again, but he has got beyond that now, you see; he is
nearly eighteen, and openly scoffs at my authority. Upon my word, I
don't know what to do in the matter."

"He is growing up a thorough young ruffian," the Squire said
indignantly, "and one of these mornings I expect to see him brought up
before us charged with some serious offense. We had to fine him last
week for being drunk and making a disturbance down at Reigate. Why do
you let him have money? You may have no authority over him; but at least
you should refuse to open your purse to him. Don't you see that this
sort of thing is not only a disgrace to him, but very prejudicial to
the village? What authority can you have for speaking against vice and
drunkenness, when your son is constantly intoxicated?"

"I see that, Squire--none better; and I have thought of resigning my
cure."

"Stuff and nonsense, Parson! If the young fellow persists in his present
course he must leave the village, that is clear enough; but that is no
reason why you should. The question is what is to be done with him? The
best thing he could do would be to enlist. He might be of some service
to his country, in India or the American Colonies, but so far as I can
see he is only qualifying himself for a jail here."

"I have told him as much, Squire," Mr. Bastow said, in a depressed
voice, "and he has simply laughed in my face, and said that he was very
comfortable where he was, and had no idea whatever of moving."

"What time does he go out in the morning?" John Thorndyke asked
abruptly.

"He never gets up till twelve o'clock, and has his breakfast when I take
my dinner."

"Well, I will come in tomorrow morning and have a talk with him myself."

The next day the Squire rode up to the door of the Rectory soon after
one o'clock. Mr. Bastow had just finished his meal; his son, a young
fellow of between seventeen and eighteen, was lolling in an easy chair.

"I have come in principally to speak to you, young sir," John Thorndyke
said quietly. "I have been asking your father what you intend to do with
yourself. He says he does not know."

The young fellow looked up with an air of insolent effronter